We all have a story to tell. Some have a handful. Some can write forever and not tell them all. But, the point being…we all have something to share with others and with the world. We just have to be brave enough to speak. It isn’t easy for some people to tell their stories. Some are too personal. Some are too painful to repeat. And, some people think their stories aren’t worthwhile to others so they keep them inside.

I’ve always been a storyteller. There is a longstanding Appalachian tradition that a family’s history is passed down from generation to generation through the telling of stories. This isn’t solely a mountain tradition. It’s something that’s stood the test of time for millennia. Appalachians are great at it, so I can safely say I get it honest. 

I sat attentively listening to the tales my elders shared when I was a child. I loved listening to the old folks talk amongst themselves about people long dead and it instilled the love of a good story in my young heart. My first published writing was in high school in an annual publication called Academia. (In my West Virginia naïveté, I placed the emphasis on the second and fourth syllables and not the third.)

I wrote poetry off and on and crafted a children’s book back when Daughter #1 was in grade school. I attempted to write a book once and unfortunately, listened to my critics and put it away. I’ve written personal journals off and on for many years. However, it wasn’t till after Mr. Virgo died that I began to write in earnest. 

I’ve been indulging myself these last few weeks with exploring my family history after an eight year hiatus. I’m finding some fascinating information and connections. There are some really cool names like…John Quincy Adams (5th cousin, 9x removed), Lady Jane Seymour (3rd wife of King Henry VIII), and Barack Obama. Yes, THAT Barack Obama. It seems we are 10th cousins on his mother’s side. Who knew?

Looking back in time, I find myself ever so grateful for the modern conveniences we all take for granted…namely adequate healthcare. As I was searching death records yesterday, I came across a family that lost EIGHT children in the span of five weeks to “sore throat”…which could indicate any number of communicable diseases that struck before penicillin was discovered in 1928. Strep throat is something we consider a fairly common annoyance in childhood was often a death sentence in the 1800’s. 

I cannot imagine the poor mothers…losing all their babies in the blink of an eye. I used to sit and moan over a nasty cold. Covid has changed my perspective forever on the impact of communicable diseases on families. So much that we took for granted has been changed…some lost, some forever different. It gives me a fresh eye in my genealogical research, as well. Having felt the sting of loss myself, when I stumble upon a widow, I look to see how long she was alone…did she have young children…did she remarry…what became of her children? 

The weather warmed up nicely yesterday and you can see the snow melting. I know winter isn’t over by a long shot, but I will gladly accept the gift of a glimpse of spring.

?

“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.”

Psalm 127:3-5 ESV