by  Sharon Barrows Sanzo

        As the years went by and eventually I lost all these very dear people, I found myself drawn more and more into that ever involved hobby of Genealogy. At first, I busied myself filling notepads full of early records of births, deaths, marriages and offspring. I documented every piece of statistical fact pertaining to my heritage that I could get my hands on. I traveled to places and wrote to agencies in search of town and state records pertaining to my early ancestors.

        After many years had passed, I sat there reading through these, what were now, piles of notebooks with nothing but the barest of facts on this family of mere names and dates, and realized that I had missed the most important part of what my dear grand-parents and great-grandparents had tried to teach me. I had all the statistics, back to the early 1500’s, but I never bothered to find out about the lives of the people themselves. I had missed the point of it all, entirely! So, with a renewed interest, I set out again, this time to find out about the real lives of my ancestors.

        Not long ago, I sat by a hearth in an old home in Plymouth, Massachusetts. The house had been occupied by my great-times ten-grandfather and his family in the 1600’s. It was a cold, rainy day, and I just happened to be the only visitor to the old home, now owned by the Preservation Society of Plymouth. I remember sitting there, with my foot gently rocking an old cradle that lie on the earthen floor by my feet. A feeling of warmth and love overcame me and I felt a tear run down my cheek.

        In the past few years, I have visited several old homesteads, in many states, where my ancestors had previously lived. I have even found some of these homes are still occupied by family members that I never knew existed. I have visited battlegrounds, where my family members fought and sometimes died, in the Indian Wars, the American Revolution and the Civil War. I have walked in their footsteps through these places and then devoured every piece of historical information pertaining to that particular era. My old History teacher would be proud of me today! Better late than never, I suppose. I have lovingly handled pieces of silver, made by an uncle who was a silversmith, in early colonial days. I have even visited an old historical home in Tolland, Connecticut, that is purported to be haunted by a long lost cousin. The house had been used to hold Hessian prisoners at one time. I have found so many relatives who served this great Country of ours from the American Revolution through the Battle in the Gulf. There is a medal from the Civil War, belonging to my great-great-grandfather along with his photograph, that is displayed in our living room. He was a Cavalry soldier, and had his horse shot out from under him during one of the battles.