This was found in the genealogy notes of Elsie Avis Lindow Card after her death. Her family figures it must have been special for her to have saved it with her genealogy things.
"Mama's Mama, on a winter's day, milked the cows
and fed them hay; slopped the hogs, saddled
the mule and got the children off to school.
Did a washing, mopped the floors,
washed some windows and did some chores
Cooked a dish of home dried fruit,
pressed her husband's Sunday suit.
Swept the parlor, made the bed,
baked a dozen loaves of bread.
Split some firewood and lugged it in,
enough to fill the kitchen bin.
Cleaned the lamps and put oil in, stewed some apples
she thought might spoil. Churned the butter, baked
a cake, then exclaimed,
"For mercy's sake, the calves have got out of the pen."
Went out and chased them in again.
Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,
returned to the house and set the table,
cooked a supper that was delicious
and afterward washed all the dishes.
Fed the cat, sprinkled the clothes,
mended a basket full of hose.
Then she opened the organ and began to play -
"When you come to the end of a perfect day.!"
This was sent to me by the daughter-in-law of Elsie, Dawn Card. The family still has relatives around the Durand, Wis. area. Thank you Dawn for sharing it with us....
Here is one of the poems that Connie has recieved that reflects the feelings that genealogists have for their ancestors.
Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
On the faded, mossy stone.
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist
You died before I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would of loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot,
And come to visit you.
Just to show that Genealogists can have a sense of humor....
Searching For An Ancestor
I went searching for an ancestor.
I cannot find him still.
He moved around from place to place and did not leave a will.
He married where a courthouse burned.
He mended all his fences.
He avoided any man who came to take the US census.
He always kept his luggage packed, this man who had no fame.
And every 20 years or so, this rascal changed his name.
His parents came from Europe. They could be upon some list
of passengers to the USA, but somehow they got missed.
And no one else in the world is searching for this man
So, I play geneasolitaire to find him if I can.
I'm told he's buried in a plot, with tombstone he was blessed
but the weather took engraving and some vandals took the rest,
He died before the county clerks decided to keep records,
No family bible has emerged in spite of all my efforts.
To top it off this ancestor, who caused me many groans
Just to give me one more pain, betrothed a girl named JONES.
GRANDMA AND THE FAMILY TREE
There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed her of late,
She's always reading history or jotting down some date.
She's tracking back the family, we'll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma's got a hobby, she's climbing Family Trees.
Poor Grandpa does the cooking and now, or so he states,
That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.
Grandma can't be bothered, she's busy as a bee,
Compiling genealogy - for the Family Tree.
She has no time to baby-sit, the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Grandad's shirt, the flower bed's a sight.
She's given up her club-work, the serials on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the Family Tree.
She goes down to the courthouse and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty, they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you're climbing Family Trees.
The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs to join the DAR.
A worthwhile avocation, to that we all agree,
A monumental project, to climb the Family Tree.
Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry, some German, all the way.
Some went on west to stake their claim, some stayed near by the sea.
Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree.
She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze,
That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees.
There were pioneers and patriots mixed in our kith and kin,
Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin.
But none more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee,
Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.
Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook,
And one (Alas!) the record shows was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee,
Long last in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree.
To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more,
She knows the joys and heartaches of those who went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept, and now for you and me,
They live again in spirit, around the Family Tree.
At last she's nearly finished and we are each exposed.
Life will be the same again, this we supposed!
Grandma will cook and sew, serve cookies with our tea.
We'll all be fat, just as before that wretched Family Tree.
Sad to relate, the Preacher called and visited for a spell,
We talked about the Gospel, and other things as well,
The heathen folk, the poor and then - 'twas fate, it had to be,
Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma and the Family Tree.
We tried to change the subject, we talked of everything,
But then in Grandma's voice we heard that old familiar ring.
She told him all about the past and soon was plain to see,
The Preacher, too, was nearly snared by Grandma and the Family Tree.
He never knew his Grandpa, his mother's name was...Clark?
He and Grandma talked and talked, outside it grew dark.
We'd hoped our fears were groundless, but just like some disease,
Grandma's become an addict - she's hooked on Family Trees.
Our souls were filled with sorrow, our hearts sank with dismay,
Our ears could scarce believe the words we heard our Grandma say,
"It sure is a lucky thing that you have come to me,
I know exactly how it's done, I'll climb your Family Tree!"
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