ancestry

The Dream

Soon after the wild trip to deliver my grandfather to my aunt, I had a haunting dream that set the stage for my obsession with genealogy and researching my family history.

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In my dream, I’m walking through darkened rooms in a silent house. Where am I? Oh, I know this house! This is my aunt’s house. I’ve spent much of my childhood here. Where is everyone? With that thought, I now see through the windows that there are people out on the patio and scattered in groups across the lawn. Why are they all outside? Normally, everyone would be gathered around the big swamp cooler, visiting and telling stories as the children chased each other through the house.

The Spark

I have always been interested in the past. Historical novels, old buildings, and cemeteries captured my childhood imagination and filled me with longing for something I could never quite identify. While siblings and cousins rolled their eyes and plotted an escape from elder relatives spinning tales, I settled in and begged for more. My maternal grandmother’s stories of mining camps and covered wagons (not Calistogas, she would remind me when my eyes flashed wild) left me breathless imagining the exciting life she had lived. Although the stories included scoundrels and heroes, romance and bitter betrayal, I never gave much thought to actually researching and discovering more about our family characters until I took a memorable ride to Phoenix with my paternal grandfather, a world-class scoundrel.

That day began with a call from one of my aunts saying, “Shannon, Daddy escaped and we think he’s coming to Prescott. He has a gun and said he’s going to kill your Aunt #####. Now you keep an eye out and let me know if he shows up at your house.”