It's a simple fact of life.
Genealogists are pack rats.
Each and every one of us has boxes or plastic bins filled with photographs of people we don't know but probably are related to, boxes of documents listing generations of relatives and ziplock bags filled with crumbling pieces of paper with faded writing.
Most people would have tossed this stuff out years ago.
We're not most people, though.
We are the family historians, the ones who saw some sort of value in these relics of time and elected to keep them.
Some of you are lucky enough to have attics, though.
I have a attic-turned-office where I keep all of my treasures, past and present. I don't often sort through them, however. I only did so recently because a Facebook friend started a group for those folks who still recognize the art of letter-writing or who have a bunch of old letters they don't know what to do with.
She asked me to join. When I did and saw what it was all about I responded, "Have I got treasures for you!"
First I posted a photo of the box of letters I have from my late father. My parents divorced with I was 2-years-old and he spent the next decade or so travelling around the world selling agricultural equipment.
He did love to write letters, though, and he wrote to me often from Rome, Paris, Brazil, Manila, England, Mexico. Sometimes he would draw a little picture, sometimes he would include a postcard photo. He died in 1989 at the much-too-young age of 56, so this is really all I have left of him.
I have lots of left-over treasures from my ancestors too. Like this letter from my great-great grandfather, Joseph Henry French to his beloved, my great-great grandmother, Eliza Janette Howard. It's dated August 24, 1857.
I have things other than letters, too.
I have my grandfather's New Orleans driver's license.
And I have dance cards. These date from sometime in the early 1900s and probably belonged to my grandfather's sisters.
Some of this stuff probably belongs in a museum. The Historic New Orleans Collection, perhaps.
Genealogists are pack rats.
Each and every one of us has boxes or plastic bins filled with photographs of people we don't know but probably are related to, boxes of documents listing generations of relatives and ziplock bags filled with crumbling pieces of paper with faded writing.
Most people would have tossed this stuff out years ago.
We're not most people, though.
We are the family historians, the ones who saw some sort of value in these relics of time and elected to keep them.
Some of you are lucky enough to have attics, though.
I have a attic-turned-office where I keep all of my treasures, past and present. I don't often sort through them, however. I only did so recently because a Facebook friend started a group for those folks who still recognize the art of letter-writing or who have a bunch of old letters they don't know what to do with.
She asked me to join. When I did and saw what it was all about I responded, "Have I got treasures for you!"
First I posted a photo of the box of letters I have from my late father. My parents divorced with I was 2-years-old and he spent the next decade or so travelling around the world selling agricultural equipment.
He did love to write letters, though, and he wrote to me often from Rome, Paris, Brazil, Manila, England, Mexico. Sometimes he would draw a little picture, sometimes he would include a postcard photo. He died in 1989 at the much-too-young age of 56, so this is really all I have left of him.
I have things other than letters, too.
I have my grandfather's New Orleans driver's license.
And his elementary school books.
I also have my great grandfather's buttons. He was a railroad conductor for the Southern Pacific Railroad in New Orleans.
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And I have dance cards. These date from sometime in the early 1900s and probably belonged to my grandfather's sisters.
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| This one is empty. |
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| This one is nearly full. |
Some of this stuff probably belongs in a museum. The Historic New Orleans Collection, perhaps.
I worry what will become of it all when I'm gone.
