The Genealogy Dilemma: Online or Off?

 

I'll admit: we've been spoiled. There was a time when all complaining about brick wall ancestors occurred within the confines of local genealogical society meetings—or by placing a query in the classifieds of the Everton's Genealogical Helper. Now, we can take our family history rant online and have instant commiseration through social media.

Better yet, we can actually look for records concerning that brick wall ancestor, thanks to multiple online resources—some for a price, admittedly—and even find an answer. There are more digitized documents available online now than there have ever been. What used to be impossible can now actually be easily findable.

When it comes to continued learning, perhaps it was Covid which influenced our turn to online resources to increase our research skills. And the steepest—and most quickly mounted—learning curve was being able to acquire the knack of signing on to genealogy society events on Zoom, Google Meet, or other platforms for online meetings.

With our increased dependence on online gathering, I've noticed one thing: I miss getting together with fellow genies. Online settings may have afforded us such a broader vista of opportunities, but one thing it lacks: the spontaneity of face-to-face gatherings. 

Perhaps that's what prompted me, lately, to make the shift for an online genealogy class series I've taught for years. This spring, my co-instructor and I are switching to an in-person venue at a local community college. Yes, every class member will end up paying for parking permits and toting their laptop across campus once a week. But we'll get to collaborate weekly over our brick wall ancestors, face to face for a glorious two hour long genealogy jam session.

Perhaps, too, that's what beguiled me to drive three hours to attend a local D.A.R. chapter's day-long family history event today. It's not that I need to sit in on beginning genealogy classes; I want to go where the people are. (Truth be told, I will be shopping for possible future speakers for our own society's programs—and you can be pretty sure I'll lug my laptop into the host church's FamilySearch Center to glean all those access-onsite-only Polish documents I found last December while I'm there.)

It's all about the surprising energy we find when we gather to talk about our research passion. Yes, that can sometimes erupt spontaneously during online meetings, but I've seen more times when that hasn't been the case. But face to face, we can't help but steer towards sharing those genealogical discoveries that intrigue us and spark that excitement.

Face it, we share our research passion far easier when we gather together. I know I search for those opportunities—and want to make them a reality, too.

The Trial and Error of Collaboration

 

Yesterday, I mentioned getting together with a newfound cousin to compare family trees. We met at a coffee shop where we could spread out, equipped with two laptops and notebooks. This was not just a social get-together; this was a working session. We were on a mission.

Because we both are also involved in a locally-inspired continuing education program (similar to OLLI), we realized the possible application to future classes of what we were doing—the trial and error effort of collaborating to answer our own research question. We began discussing whether we could use that same approach for a small group learning project in genealogy.

Aside from the limitations of finding a hospitable space for several people and their laptops, such a workshop would need to begin with an agreement: that we'd be willing to be patient enough for the process to unfold organically as each member frames a research question or goal, and we collectively explore ways to resolve impasses.

As I mentioned last week, I believe that this part of the process is actually where learning begins. Not in sitting through lectures. Certainly not in studying for tests. But in the application of techniques as, by trial and error, we learn what works for our particular problem—and what doesn't work.

Launching such a program without testing it first would not be a good idea. It's an experiment; of course it would be messy. In our discussion of the possibilities last week, we talked about giving it an informal trial run. It's just a matter of gathering a few volunteers (and their laptops, of course) at a coffee or sandwich shop with wifi connection, seeing what works best for everyone. Even with just a few willing members from our local genealogical society, we should be able to try that—and then ask everyone what works best for them. What helps people make a breakthrough on their brick wall research problem?

Just hearing one person make a suggestion like this was validating. I've been teaching for a long time and frankly, it can be very disheartening to feel like a lesson is no more than so much "blah, blah, blah." The key is to find what makes a difference for the learner—and every learner is different. It is encouraging for the teacher and empowering for the learner to engage in an approach that becomes a catalyst to successful outcomes. I'm hoping we can find such a catalyst through this project.

Grunt Work and the Genealogy Guinea Pig

 

You know me: the genealogy guinea pig. I'll try anything to burrow around an ancestral brick wall. Many of those attempts lead to dead ends, but for some, I come out in victory. Experiment successful!

With experiences like that, you might not be surprised to hear that I spend a lot of time helping others wander through their own genealogical maze, hunting for the ancestral big cheese. Some of that time is in formal classroom settings and through teaching lessons on specific topics, but other times, I'm just as likely to be meeting one on one with friends at a coffee shop (with a decent wifi connection, of course) or even via online sessions, chasing our ancestral mysteries.

Considering that, I was rather crestfallen to see a Substack article recommended by other bloggers on "Why Most Genealogy Advice Wastes Your Time." Well, I certainly hope my advice doesn't waste others' time; if it does, it wastes my time, also. 

I had to give that one some thought. During that same week, it so happened that I ended up involved with  several such advice-giving sessions, not just in genealogy, but in other realms as well. I met with a fellow researcher one on one to tackle some problems, held an online DNA special interest group meeting, joined with other researchers in a family history writing group, made a presentation to members of a genealogy society, and led my own society's meeting, in addition to wandering around the back corners of Polish records at FamilySearch.org.

But did that help anybody? That's the key question I glean from the Substack article posed by Denyse Allen. I've got to admit, after all the genealogical effort of the past week—in addition to observing a class taught by someone else—I have to concede she has a point. But not, perhaps, in the exact way she means it.

Over this weekend, I watched someone else teach a class on self-improvement which was free to attend. Being held on a sunny Saturday morning, perhaps it was no surprise to see the event was sparsely attended. I watched as people sat, taking notes, and wondered how many would take a look at those notes again, let alone actually put the advice into practice. I think we've all been dulled by the traditional classroom experience, lulled into listening, then thinking the end of class equates with reaching the finish line.

On the contrary, it's just the beginning. It's what we do next that determines whether we've learned or not.

Stepping back and taking a sweeping view of the evolution of educational techniques—at least for adult learning styles—we are far more suited to collaborative attempts at problem solving. The main reason for this, though, is not that we thrive on chaos, but that we can coach each other as we move, step by step, through that dark tunnel towards the light at the end.

We don't, as it turns out, learn as much from massive data dumps—where our brains hardly get the space to burp—as we do from incremental experiments in progress. We try this, test it out. Maybe it works. Maybe it doesn't—and then we try something else to solve that same problem.

We're guinea pigs at work, testing the limits of our hypotheses, one by one, to follow the trail to the answer we seek. As I've mentioned in the past when explaining my position as unofficial genealogy guinea pig, learning can be awkward, especially when it is observed in real time. After all, to make progress, you have to admit you don't know something. That's the realization where learning begins.

I've often wished I could change the format of some of the teaching sessions I've done for genealogy. If I could have my way—meaning space to experiment, and resources to make it possible—I'd much prefer putting learning into an engaging environment. A place where we had the luxury of testing ideas out and failing—and then taking the time to make adjustments and try again.

Traditional learning has one assumption baked into the formula: you learn in class; where you apply it is on you, at some other time. Just not now.

Whether I can replicate the genealogy guinea pig in such an experimental classroom, I don't know. It does, for instance, call for participants who are willing to take the time to try new things in real time, right there while we're meeting. And then share, reflecting on what went wrong, and what can be done instead—always moving forward.

Maybe that type of experimental lab needs to not be called a classroom. Nor should the session be called a class. Workshop, maybe. Or perhaps something entirely new. Whatever it turns out to be, hopefully it will be the catalyst to get people out of that listening-only mode into a doing mindset.

Genealogy, after all, can truly turn out to be grunt work. And we all need some encouragement to get through those rough spots in the genealogy puzzle. But on the other side, finding that answer! That's the reward which inspires the genealogy happy dance, and we really need someone to share that moment with us. Why not the people who've been working through the process with us all along?

The Whodunit Drive

 

I can't say this statement is genetically verifiable, but it's obvious many humans have a "whodunit" drive embedded in their DNA. We need to find out who did it, get to the punch line, discover the answer. We can't abide the vacuum of uncertainty.

I watched a brief video positioned at the end of a recent blog post by Seth Godin. The video took all of about three and a half minutes—yes, I said minutes, not hours—and the ending made me literally laugh out loud.

The introductory blog post—brief, in quintessential Godin style—was about choosing to learn and why we choose not to learn. The end of the post segued nicely into the YouTube video, an unedited version of his talk given at TED2014.

The talk (spoiler alert here) asked, "It is a note worth playing?" As Seth Godin began his monologue, he pulled a clarinet out of its case and assembled it, all the while discussing a mindset of determining that if something is worth doing, it is worth doing exceptionally. Clarinet in hand—and almost before the audience realized it was over—he concluded his remarks as he turned his back on the audience and exited the stage, never once having played a single note on his now at-the-ready instrument.

I laughed because I just witnessed a brilliant object lesson. He had our attention because we were waiting for his demonstration. 

The demonstration never came.

The other shoe never dropped.

He left us in mid-sentence, thought-wise, waiting to hear what should have happened next.

And with that disequilibrium, our only resolution is to fill in the blank. Finish the sentence for ourselves.

That's not education. That's learning.

I just spent an entire day at a genealogy seminar hosted by a D.A.R. chapter in an ocean town I often enjoy visiting. The many speakers presented useful material—I focused here mostly on technology tools and techniques—but if I don't go home and put that newfound knowledge to use on my own research projects, I will really have learned nothing.

Right now, we have entered a genealogical season of learning. Of worldwide attention right now is the approaching annual RootsTech conference in early March. Following on the heels of that event, another virtual family history seminar hosted by the African American Genealogy Society will feature Renate Yarborough Sanders. Just over a week later, the Jewish Genealogical Society at our state's capital—Sacramento—will feature a case study by Steve Morse. And rumor has it that another genealogical society in that same city—Root Cellar—has two notable guest speakers on their spring lineup: Daniel Horowitz from MyHeritage in March, and Judy Russell ("The Legal Genealogist") in May.

Some season of learning opportunities—but only if we put the education we've gained to personal use.

A RootsTech Re-Wrap

 

It's been a week since RootsTech wrapped up its run for 2022. Generously, the RootsTech team made this year's event as accessible as last year's—and even more so now, as we can still access our play lists from the previous year, along with the current year's offerings.

Unlike last year, the "advantage" for me with this season's conference was that I was a captive audience. Coming down with an illness that same week which slew me—or at least knocked me flat on my back—had its advantages, at least in the matter of timing. I had no choice but to watch; I couldn't get up to do much more than lazily stare at my computer screen.

There was, however, much more than that, as far as benefits went. Now that I've had a week to mull over everything, here are some observations.

The first detail that struck me about RootsTech was how accessible beginner training was. From a selfish point of view, that might not seem a plus, but besides the outcome of nurturing newer genealogists, viewing the stuff which might seem old hat to us can still be beneficial. In the midst of all that "yeah, yeah, I already know that" material turned out to be quite a few helpful tips. While we may think we know a lot, there's always someone else who might turn up with a new way of approaching a problem that might not have occurred to us in our entrenched expertise.

There is also an aspect that I like to refer to as "learning by osmosis." That is the principle I try to employ when I write about my research escapades, becoming the genealogical guinea pig to share the experience in hopes that others will glean new resources or approaches to genealogical puzzles we have in common. At RootsTech, what I found unfolding in my mind, as I listened to speakers, were ideas on how I could modify someone else's research approach to fit a puzzle I hadn't yet been able to solve. There is something about listening to others talk through their difficulties that provides us with the creative problem-solving juices to oil our own mind's machinery. Insights often beget insights.

Now that I'm back on my feet, I suppose the remainder of my playlist will face the same fate as the one from last year's event: still waiting to be watched. That's the truth of the matter, as it stands now. But perhaps I'll heed that little realization, that light bulb that turned on while flat on my back last week during RootsTech. Sometimes a little down time to let our subconscious problem-solving mind tackle the details can turn out to be a good thing. It certainly did revitalize some research efforts for me—and I'm looking forward to sharing those little sparks in the coming week.

An Appetite for Learning

 

Though my educational palate has long since been set on long-form main courses, occasionally nibbling on some tasty genealogical appetizers is not beyond me. Given that a worldwide family history fest is about to be deliciously plated for all to partake, with no limit to time or space, why not avail one's self of such an educational feast?

The learning opportunity I'm referring to is FamilySearch's RootTech, the annual family history conference which, since the pandemic, has re-invented itself as a 72-hour long continuous digital learning opportunity beginning at 8:00 a.m.—Salt Lake City time, of course—on March 3. All it takes to be a participant in this digital event is to sign up for a free account at FamilySearch.org and register for the conference (and have access to an online connection).

Several keynote speakers have already been announced, and represent compelling life stories from around the world. Soon, the listing of all sessions will be made available, at which point you can assemble your personal play list to suit your own educational needs. As was done last year, the sessions will remain on the RootsTech website for access throughout the year, so there's no pressure to overindulge by educational overdose.

One fun diversion is the opportunity to find new relatives among fellow RootsTech attendees by joining Relatives at RootsTech—yet another way the conference team is emphasizing their theme, "Choose Connection." What really caught my eye about the team's explanation of their theme was the statement, "Of all the ways to choose connection in this world, listening to another person's story with interest and empathy might be the best way to start."

To catch up on all the RootsTech news which has already been posted, see the FamilySearch blog. Granted, there's a lot to consider—especially seeing all the stories which are about to be shared with this worldwide audience. Though the full schedule has not yet been released, there is bound to be something for everyone in this learning smorgasbord of family history. Read the menu of good things to come, yes, but in the meantime, don't forget to place your own order: in order to participate, you'll need to remember to register for your free seat at the learning table. 

What a Big Mess a Little Bug can Make

 

Last week would have marked my traditional annual trip to attend the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy held there by the Utah Genealogical Society. And, up to only a few weeks prior, this year would have marked a return to an in-person venue after an awkward hiatus due to the too-great risks of the pandemic.

How I would have loved to have been there. And how glad I am that I didn't spring for the preparations. What a big mess such a tiny "bug" can make for even the best of plans.

Though I know the program seamlessly reverted to an online-only option, watching online from my isolated position at home just wouldn't have been the same. I know; I tried it the previous year. Yes, I learned much—but that was all I gained for the experience. The people factor, the networking, the milling about, the reunions with friends from past years just wasn't the same, at least for me.

As difficult as it must have been for the SLIG administrative team to make that last minute decision to abandon original dreams, the choice was likely inevitable. Even after that announcement, here at home—far removed from Salt Lake City—I could watch the hospitalization numbers earlier this month ratchet upwards alarmingly, and know it couldn't be much better anywhere else, no matter where a person calls home. And, on a miniature scale, our own local genealogical society's board traced a route through a similar decision tree to arrive at the conclusion that our own first face-to-face meeting would prudently have to wait out the winter.

On the larger scale in which the UGA must operate, there are significant consequences to such cancellations, and I am not surprised to see that the SLIG leadership has opted to announce next year's Institute to be a virtual-only event. The dates are already up on their website—January 22 through 27, 2023—with fifteen courses already announced.

Those in the know already have marked their calendars for the opening of registration on July 16, 2022, poised to claim their first course choice right at 10:00 a.m. Mountain Time. Even with an online-only venue, classes fill up quickly.

Glad I'm Not a Time Traveler

 

It's been a busy season for me, coming out of pandemic isolation and back into the always-rush-hour world of inter-connectedness. In just one season, my family has flown cross-country to Florida on business, then to Connecticut for training, then driven to San Diego for yet another company event. Before the month is out, we will complete one more masked venture on a five hour flight across the ocean. Even I can't keep up with myself. Despite the theoretical perks for family historians, it makes me glad I don't have the capability to be a time traveler.

Having a perpetual motion schedule has its down side, as you can imagine. The theoretical approach of completing work ahead of time to make space for down time on trips is near laughable. I think working ahead only doubles the "fun" by dooming such a poor soul to have to repeat the effort upon return home; there is always something more to complete in the after-thought. I find myself reviewing tasks and realizing how much got neglected, despite the twice-over built into the travel system. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of peaceful contemplation in unhurried pandemic conditions.

That said, what prompted me to consider how klutzy a time traveler I'd be was the moment of stumbling upon readers' kind comments from the past month, and realizing I hadn't responded. One comment in particular touched on how to choose research projects. While I can't lay out a rigid how-to procedure in response, I do have some suggestions based on my own experience, and will spend some time at the end of this month to discuss how I go about planning future research.

The year ahead certainly promises to be different than either the nearly two-year-long pandemic season we've just passed or life-as-we-knew-it before words like coronavirus became part of our everyday lexicon. Yes, there may be variants on the horizon, or another surge, but people are making plans to travel—or actually going out there and doing it now. Some folks will be packing their bags for that annual trip to the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy in January—sadly, I will not be among them next year—or maybe even venturing out to Sacramento, California, for the National Genealogical Society's annual conference this coming May. There will be trips to courthouses to retrieve records, or pilgrimages to clean ancestors' headstones. Maybe people will be brave enough to gather together in family reunions once again.

It will be good to see familiar faces back in the same comfortable places where we once enjoyed gathering—or in places new to us with future friends and associates in upcoming learning experiences. No matter which trip it is that becomes my preferred way to disrupt my everyday schedule, I'll be glad it involves only the here and now and not the wide-open world of time travel. I'll leave those scenarios to the imagination of science fiction right now. No falling into the plagues, leprosy, or consumption from ages past for this uncoordinated traveler; masking up for the coronavirus is challenge enough for me.

 

Countdown to Learning

 

Somewhat akin to the feeling of celebrating Christmas in July, the middle of summer has become my personal cue to revel in the anticipation of wintertime learning to come. Instead of thinking of December in July, I turn my thoughts to January in August.

In case you haven't heard, today is the opening of registration for a key learning opportunity in the family history community: the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy. Precisely at 10 a.m. Mountain Daylight Time, the online system opens up to those diligent learners who are sitting, poised at their computer with their mouse hovering over the "register now" button. They've already scoured the course descriptions and made their selection. Now, all they have to wait for is the opening bell, when they'll race through the registration details until they successfully complete the process and see the prize of that final message, "Your registration has been recorded."

This year will be different at SLIG, of course. The decision had to be made a while back to convert the in-house learning experience to a virtual one, based on the long-term assessment of the need for social distancing. Gone will be any snarky remarks about germs being caught and attributed to the journey to Salt Lake City in January; this year, the learning will be contactless. Much safer in this pandemic atmosphere—though I must admit I'll still miss being there with the many others who enjoy their week's learning at the SLIG Center at the downtown Hilton.

Different, too, will be the new option for attending online SLIG. Instead of one week of learning with everyone present at one location for the duration, the planned courses have been spread out over two weeks. Week One of SLIG 2021 will be held from January 10 through 15, and Week Two will occur from January 24 through 29.

For those keen observers reading those dates, yes, that means learners can avail themselves of twice the learning opportunities. Our continued learning is thus limited only by our ability to continue staring at a computer screen for hours on end. Thankfully, I see the SLIG tradition continues of the reasonable breaks usually included in the schedule; we will need not only a stretch break but an eye break as well.

It almost seems like yesterday when I was leaving class each evening and heading to the Family History Library to tackle that month's research challenge. I can't believe it will soon be time to reconvene—only this time, by virtual means.

No time to cry over such lost opportunities, though: first, I need to successfully navigate the registration process faster than the few minutes it takes for the most popular courses to fill up. If I remember correctly, the first class to reach capacity last year made it to that cut-off mark in only six minutes. With a countdown as quick as that was, better be nimble about finishing the registration process this time.

Whistle a Happy Tune

When stuck in a sticky situation, feeling no escape, it helps to heed the advice of the governess to the children of King Mongkut of Siam—or at least Rodgers and Hammerstein's version of it—and whistle a happy tune. It may do nothing for the situation, but it can ease some frayed nerves...and perhaps coax a few people to turn off that incessant newscast and focus on more positive efforts.

I don't know whether there's a market for whistling genealogists, but humor me here; I'm looking for a salve to soothe the spirits. Have you noticed how distracted people have been getting? I can't even sit down and read (an admittedly complex book) or plod through a convoluted research plan with all this commotion. Hence, the need for activities which keep me up and physically moving, like cleaning out all those old notes-to-myself.

In the face of all that unfortunate inability to concentrate, we have been graciously showered with offers of free services in the genealogy world. Have you noticed lately? MyHeritage, for instance, has opened their MyHeritage in Color program for use for free, through April 23, to not just those on their "Complete" plan, but to everyone. Added to that, they've set up a drawing, giving away one free "Complete" MyHeritage subscription per week to those who share their photo colorization results on social media with the hashtag #ColorBeatsCoronavirusBlues.

Just searching that term on Twitter provided a tour of selected photos from family heritages around the world, in itself a spirit-boosting diversion for me.

And at Ancestry.com, where they have been offering their AncestryK12 services to teachers for nearly a decade, the company announced just yesterday that they are opening up their history lesson plans to parents of school-aged children, as well as their collection of millions of images from the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration. The only requirement for access is to create a free account on Ancestry, using your email address. As an added bonus, Ancestry.com is also making available some of the basic instruction videos from Ancestry Academy during this unspecified time period. Details and clickable links are on Ancestry's blog post here.

Of course, these are only two of many such offers making their appearance (and hopefully getting us unstuck from the news)—enough, at least, to get a whole lot more of us whistling a happy tune despite being sequestered in the face of this health crisis.

An Extra Day! Consider it a Gift!

Have you been considering a new project, but keep stalling out because you don't think you have enough time to even start it? What about all that catch-up work which, cleared away, would eliminate so much stress from your life? We all have plans and dreams that we, well, never got around to because we let the specter of "not enough time" badger us into taking no activity at all.

Today, however, is a gift: an extra day eased into your crowded calendar. It's Leap Day, leaping up to squeeze that needed margin into your life. Consider this calendared contrivance as a gift: extra breathing room in the midst of the 24/7/365 grind.

If you choose to accept that gift, what boost would you let that gift give to your day?

I, for one, would love to have a day filled with...nothing. I'd love to read a book, sitting outside with a cup of coffee and soaking in the gentle spring sunshine.

Or idly clearing out all those less-than-important messages that have filled up my email inbox over the past several years. My inbox needs breathing room, too.

Maybe even taking advantage, as one of the steadfast #NotAtRootsTech gang, of the free live streaming of some of Saturday's sessions. Or snagging some of the sales extended to those of us staying home instead of going to Salt Lake City (brrr).

Of course, the marketers have already filled our in-boxes with that "leap" revelation—and the coupons to go along with it. If you keep up on genealogy news, I'm sure you've already noticed genea-friend Thomas MacEntee's Genealogybargains.com  emailed announcement about the rock-bottom DNA kit price for this weekend at MyHeritage ($39)—something to prompt anyone to find a way to get "a round tuit."

But the "round tuit" I better get hold of—and soon!—is the ticket to attend another event in Salt Lake City, at a much more temperate time. Come this May 20 - 23, the National Genealogical Society is hosting their annual conference in Salt Lake City. And here's the kicker: in a matter of only half a month more, the NGS early bird discount will fly away for those of us who don't seize this extra day now to make things happen.

While I've already managed to collect a list of possible things to do on this Leap Day that will more than fill the next twenty four hours, I'm sure you've already made a mental list of your own. Whether it's filled with family history pursuits or other peaceful gifts of time, consider this day a gift and carry on in like manner.

The Promise of Another Year

The Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy may be over for another year—well, mostly; there was the "SLIG Extended" and by-invitation-only SLIG Colloquium (I was invited) over the weekend, and the SLIG Academy coming up next week—but the promise of another year of SLIG in 2021 can keep us looking forward to next January.

As is their custom, the SLIG team announced the upcoming year's tentative course offerings at the close of the Friday evening banquet. Of course, I wasn't able to stay there long enough to hear the news—had a plane to catch—but thanks to a fellow genea-blogger and SLIGster, I didn't have to wait long to receive the news.

Let's just say that I will be torn as to which of many tantalizing course offerings to choose for 2021. The inestimable John Philip Colletta will return to lead a course in "Writing a Quality Family History Narrative." I'm torn between that and Gena Philibert-Ortega's "Advanced Practices in Social History." But there's also LaBrenda Garrett-Nelson, whose plenary presentation in 2019 made a lasting impression on me; next year, she'll lead a course on African American Genealogy. Favorites Judy Russell, D. Joshua Taylor, and Michael Lacopo will be there, too. Folks wanting to broaden their skills in researching their Missouri, Pennsylvania, or Russian roots will be happy with course offerings, as well. And DNA will get not one, but two berths on the lineup for next year.

Registration opens on July 11, 2020, at 9:00 a.m., Mountain Daylight Time. I'll race you to the computer first thing that Saturday morning.

It's Over . . . And Just Begun

It's amazing what a week's worth of earnest studying can do for one's knowledge base. In this case, one week of learning the research work-arounds to burned county courthouses in Virginia has opened up so many new vistas for this SLIG attendee. I'm already home from Salt Lake City and, with a good night's sleep, I'm ready to explore some new-to-me online resources. I expect I'll have a front row seat to watch some brick walls come tumbling down.

What a fulfilling week it has been, not only for all four hundred of us who attended the Institute, but for those who have put so much time into organizing this week and attending to the thousand details which go into a smoothly operating program. SLIG celebrated their twenty-fifth anniversary this week, and the SLIG team deserve a standing ovation for their consistent work over the years.

And now, I can hardly wait to hear the announcement about what classes will be offered next year. You know I will be joining those four hundred plus attendees lining up to come back again next January, snow or shine!

Moving From Possibility to Practice

The gift of learning comes with the promise of moving from the realm of possibilities—"can I find my second great-grandfather?"—to the domain of regularly putting a tool or skill into practice. Bridging the (sometimes very wide) gap between the two positions may require a great deal of determination. However, as I sit in the first few days of my selected course at the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy—the course on colonial Virginia research—the mental haze lifts so imperceptibly that I hardly realize I've stepped into a new position. I can see more clearly, now.

Overviews can be simultaneously breathtaking—"slow down, you move too fast!"—and tedious. There is so much to cover on the basics of record sets for this specialized area of research. But once we've covered the overview of resources, I'm beginning to gain a new sense that my several research challenges are yielding to the force of those new-to-me record collections. As long as I can access the records we discussed over the past two days—and as long as they include some reference to the counties and surnames I'm targeting—I may see many more mystery ancestors gain new identities.

Last night, I tried my hand at putting these new resources through their paces. In seeking my second great-grandfather, William Alexander Boothe, I took my cue from some family lore: widower Alex, it seemed, beat a hasty exit from his home territory—the now-nonexistent Nansemond County in Virginia—to move to nearby Tennessee on account of some overwhelming debts. What better place to look for his trail, back in his former Virginia home, than financial and property records?

While many such record sets need to be accessed through Virginia repositories—including the online resources at the Library of Virginia—it did turn out that some of the very documents I needed to review were also available at the Family History Library, only a couple blocks away from where I am staying for SLIG. Conveniently, SLIG provides a shuttle bus for attendees, a good thing in tonight's snow flurry. I grabbed the first bus out of the hotel and wandered through the Nansemond County tax records, pinpointing the years that Alex Boothe was still listed in the state.

Meanwhile, I realized how I could put some of these new approaches to work on many of my other early Virginia lines, so I will be regrouping after class today to formulate some new research plans. After all, I have a couple more opportunities to spend the evening at the Family History Library. If I can line up the exact resources I need before I return for my next research session, I can hit the ground running again.

It's incredible to think I'm moving from standing stock still to running through these records at full speed, but that is exactly what's happening. I'm not sure I'll ever get over that breathless-at-first yet bogged-down feeling on the first day of learning new realms of information, but at least there's that confidence that the initial daze of the data dump does give way to the solid ground of practice and experience.


 

Disclaimer: While I am certainly honored to be designated as an Ambassador for the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy 2020—and have shared about their impressive offerings for several years now—this year's designation comes to me with receipt of a modest discount to the registration fee. Nevertheless, my focus is on objectively sharing what aspects of the Institute readers at A Family Tapestry would likely find helpful, and I welcome the opportunity to continue serving as eyes and ears on site during this event for the benefit of my readers.

Tackling that First Step on the Learning Curve

If you guessed that the first hurdle on this night owl's learning curve is getting up early in the morning, you are correct. But there is so much more to fielding the world of genealogical information coming at me, full speed at the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy. And SLIG—this year or any year—is the place to practice learning fast.

Just think of it: a week-long opportunity to focus on one specific area of family history research. The ins and outs of the subject, the insider secrets, the nitty gritty: call it what you may, there is a lot of information to absorb in those (nearly) thirty hours of class time. For instance, in my selected course on Virginia research from the Colonial Period to the Civil War, the first day's sessions covered the state's geography, settlement and migration issues, plus an overview of the state's vital records, military records, and various court records.

Phew.

With a start like that, I'm torn. I realize I need to stick to my seat to hear the rest of the day's information, but in my mind, I'm simultaneously wanting to be down the street, already searching for copies of the kind of records we've been discussing in class. Those mental cogs can't help but start churning through all the research plan options. That's the energizing sort of talk that makes me want to jump up and take action. I'm beginning to see light at the end of these dark research tunnels.

Today's sessions will take the class a step deeper into the details. We talked about the state's geography yesterday; today we'll start discussing land records. We had an overview of court records yesterday; today, we'll examine just how the court system ran, prior to 1850.

And that's a good thing. Rumor has it that my most-wanted Virginia ancestor just happened to be a scoundrel escaping from bad debts left behind in Virginia when he—suddenly, apparently—immigrated to Tennessee. Imagine the paper trail he must have left behind.

One of the most valuable aspects of the SLIG class format, as opposed to conference sessions, is that, given the small class size and more ample time frame, instructors are readily available to address specific questions. I may not have much in this life, but I certainly have questions.

I particularly appreciated Barbara Vines Little's approach at the beginning of class, of taking a brief survey of class members' individual goals for being in class. When I brought up the one candidate among my Twelve Most Wanted ancestors, that renegade debtor from Nansemond County, her response about the research challenges I was up against—now non-existent county plus "badly burned" county—not only confirmed what I had already found, but also helps focus the delivery of class content for the upcoming sessions.

The nitty-gritty of learning the details—the survey of "what's out there"—is not all there is to SLIG. One of the most valuable aspects of the week, in my opinion, is the Plenary Session at the close of the first day. This is the session where, last year, LaBrenda Garrett-Nelson gave that masterful presentation which so deftly coincided with a turning point in my own research as I pursued the family tradition recalling the unnamed but long-remembered enslaved woman connected to my McClellan line and got to learn the story of her son, King Stockton.

This year's general session, in keeping with SLIG's silver anniversary, featured FamilySearch's Chief Genealogical Officer David Rencher. While his presentation was slated to be "A Look at Genealogy's Past, Present, and Future"—a topic on which he would be eminently qualified to speak—you can be sure he delivered so much more than just an overview, but cast the vision for what could be possible in our future. With a day starting me spinning my wheels in anticipation of peeling out and getting to work on the minutiae of my own research, it's quite gratifying to close that same day with such an inspiring outlook.



Disclaimer: While I am certainly honored to be designated as an Ambassador for the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy 2020—and have shared about their impressive offerings for several years now—this year's designation comes to me with receipt of a modest discount to the registration fee. Nevertheless, my focus is on objectively sharing what aspects of the Institute readers at A Family Tapestry would likely find helpful, and I welcome the opportunity to continue serving as eyes and ears on site during this event for the benefit of my readers.

Fortnightly Findings

Today is the first day of the last month of 2019. Time flies—especially so in the last two weeks. Here I thought I didn't find enough time to work on my own family trees—after all, the fortnight included a trip to southern California for a family vacation, plus a holiday weekend on top of it all. Hardly enough time for those document-by-document verifications which prove the ticket to being added to the family tree.

I had to triple check my math when I saw I had added an unbelievable 504 individuals to my mother's tree in the past two weeks. Yes, I know I'm trying to kick in the afterburners in a rush to flesh out the Virginia side of her tree in preparation for my class at SLIG next January. But that number surprised even me—and I was the one doing all the grunt work. Her tree now includes documentation for 20,060 individuals, including a surprise that I can't wait to write about.

As I expected, focusing on my mother's tree on account of my upcoming class about researching colonial Virginia families meant that next to nothing was accomplished on the other three trees I've been researching. Zero progress on my mother-in-law's tree, which has stood still at 17,194 since the beginning of November. Ditto for my dad's tree (at 654) and my father-in-law's tree (stuck at 1,563).

Another interesting aspect to watch on my biweekly check in has been the variations in match counts for our DNA tests at the major testing companies. In general, over this past year, the increase in match count has slowed to a dribble. For both my husband's tests and my own, most companies barely bring us more than a handful of matches every two weeks. In one case (23andMe), that match count can go in reverse, if a customer decides to opt out of participating in the match process. The only exception to that "handful" count is at MyHeritage, where my husband received thirty nine new matches in the past two weeks, and I, forty two. Getting past the holiday season will certainly tell the tale if interest in DNA testing is waning.

There have been a number of benefits of keeping track of my research progress in such small units of time as this biweekly review. For one thing, the spreadsheet I keep allows me to see how well I've applied myself in such a limited amount of time. But it also gives me the bigger picture view, as well. I can, at a glance, see how far I've come, by each family's tree, in a year's time. Seeing the cumulative picture is indeed encouraging.

My personal spreadsheet approach may also have echoed a general slowing of enthusiasm for participation in DNA testing across the country—and possibly, around the world. I realize I administer a very small number of tests—certainly no yardstick for judging an entire nascent market—but the rumblings I read elsewhere seem to be echoed in my own experience. I hope that turns out to be a temporary dip in an overarching trend, but that remains to be seen. What happened over this holiday shopping weekend will either provide confirmation of a downward trend, or surprise us with a welcome uptick in sales—the latter, I hope.

Despite the ups and downs of the numbers on my spreadsheet, I realize there are inputs which are beyond my control. While my slow-and-steady theory of genealogical research does strengthen my quantitative results, I've noticed that, given one family or the other, numbers rocket upward when I am researching families who had many children—and, in particular, children who, unlike their counterparts in those previous centuries, actually lived to adulthood and to the point of giving their parents grandchildren...many grandchildren.

In retrospect, that is likely what happened to my count in this past two week period. I can't fathom what else might have contributed to such an increase in my mother's tree. No matter how hard a researcher works, one document—say, a census record—with many names added to the same family is an easier add to the evidence collection than many documents added to the profile of one individual whose life produced many accolades but few descendants.

Of course, I want to keep track of collateral lines in all the branches of my family tree, but I also need to capture all the stories, as well. I find that "fast" often ends up with boring results, while the most fascinating of my ancestors tend to slow down my research progress. The one may be great for the fortnightly accounting posts, but it's the other which makes for the more interesting blog posts.

Winter Holidays and DNA Matches

It looks like a lot of companies are pushing for an early Christmas shopping season, given the late appearance on this year's calendar for Black Friday. Of course, you probably already can guess my opinion about Black Friday events. I avoid them at all costs.

Still, one thing I wish for, whether folks shop early or traditionally, is that somebody buys a DNA test kit for one of my distant relatives.

Have you noticed lately? The pace at which DNA matches have arrived in my accounts has slowed to a trickle. I used to get well over twenty each time I checked my biweekly count—from each DNA company. Make that well over one hundred each time, just at MyHeritage. Now, the new matches every two weeks total a mere handful at each company.

This, of course, had been predicted by a number of people who watch the industry. Whether it will hold true over this holiday shopping season is yet to be seen.

Still, I can't complain about the mere trickle of results I'm now getting in, considering that last summer, I got one of the most important matches I've been waiting for since beginning this genetic genealogy journey. And that's the problem: we can't pick who, among all those unknown third to fifth cousins out there, will step up to take a DNA test this winter. But I still can't wait to see the returns in the after-holiday results bulge.

Meanwhile, I'll keep chipping away at all those unknown twigs on my family tree. After all, in the last two weeks, I managed to add 182 to my mother's tree, to total 19,556 of her ancestors and their collateral lines. And that was about all I accomplished. I'm trying to focus on her line specifically on account of the week-long class I'll be taking next January at the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy. After all, it's because of my mother's colonial Virginia ancestry that I'll be sitting in Barbara Vines Little's course to delve into that topic.

Between now and the third week of January, I suspect the count for my other three trees will suffer the same fate as they have, this past week. I added a fat zero to each of my in-laws' trees, as I did to my own father's tree. Still, that leaves me with 654 in my dad's tree and 1,563 in my father-in-law's tree, and with 17,194 in my mother-in-law's tree. I'll be back to those other projects soon enough. Right now, though, I need to focus on getting ready—in the midst of all this holiday enjoyment—for some serious learning, come January.

Turning Over a New Leaf

By the time you read this—especially if you, like me, are not an early riser—you may have missed the debut of Ancestry.com's newest genealogy program added to their television lineup, A New Leaf. But that's okay: I will have missed it, as well. As touching as such programming is, I'd rather spend my time actually, you know, doing that genealogy research. I don't need help to feel good about myself as a family history fan.

Still, I do need to turn over a new leaf. I've amassed an entire library of genealogical programming I've been meaning to watch—but haven't. Last summer at Jamboree, for instance, I signed up for a year's subscription to Legacy Family Tree Webinars, including their thousand-plus archived online classes. Do you think I've gotten down to doing anything about that? I didn't even catch that Bloopers session, despite the enticement of the hilarity alongside a well-deserved celebration of their thousand-mark milestone. And despite the need to brush up on such topics as Blaine Bettinger's class on phasing, I haven't yet gotten busy on this learning to-do list.

The quandary with to-do lists is that each of us gets only twenty four hours in a day. We have to make choices as to how we use those hours. And, inevitably for those of us for whom the glass is far more than half full—like, overflowing already—that means having to say goodbye to something we are already doing before we can say hello to new opportunities.

In my case, I may have to include continuing learning in my biweekly status—a kind of accountability report of how I've progressed in my genealogy goals over a two week period. Say, adding a column for weekly online learning. Perhaps that can become my mid-day breather, or my weekend morning alternative to sleeping in.

It all depends on what I'm willing to give up to squeeze in something new. And that isn't easy. I've already discovered one thing about myself: sleeping one hour less a night isn't an option.

Thus, my own personal need to turn over a new leaf. It's almost as if I've inherited a million Genealogy Bucks—but can keep it only if I find a way to spend it all in one year.

. . . And the Verdict Is

Keep it even more simple.

Yes, the KISS formula can be improved on—or, looking at it another way, reduced even further to its basics. When we think we have things boiled down to the right size to fit the right group in the right amount of time, we (or at least I) tend to miscalculate. Overestimate? Underestimate? Whichever descriptor for the end result, I always end up beyond the edges of what I needed.

Perhaps that comes from Thanksgiving Dinner phobia. When it was my turn to host the family's Thanksgiving Dinner as a newlywed, I was terrified we'd run out of food. So I fixed four different salads. And just as many side dishes--besides the usual mashed potatoes, yams, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. Nobody was going to go hungry at my feast. I was prepared.

Seven days after that triumphal Thanksgiving performance, we gave up on the heroics of trying to eat it all and tossed the leftovers in the garbage.

So, yesterday was the big day for my class: I was going to try my hand at another way to evaluate what my beginning genealogy students had absorbed from four weeks of class. I styled an escape-room scenario—adapted for genealogy settings, of course—similar to the one by Legacy Tree genealogist Paul Woodbury that I had experienced at a recent conference.

Only problem: Paul's scenario had seven steps to complete before the first genealogy team could escape to freedom, but I had exactly half the time Paul had allotted for his conference session. Still, I can vouch for it that mine was much simpler than the DNA puzzle Paul had constructed for his APG audience.

Because my current class is a four-week session on how to use Ancestry.com, I wanted the students to try their hand at looking up a variety of documents to solve a puzzle involving a common surname, plus the twist of having two different wives of the targeted ancestor. The downfall—and what I continually urged my students not to do—was that the class could easily look up other family trees on Ancestry, and reach the end goal without having to look up any documents at all. Boo. Hiss.

I loved how this collection of near strangers self-organized into small groups yesterday and established their own teams. It was gratifying to see each group talk through the problem, step by step, offering their reasons for how to approach each problem and study each clue given. It was surprising to see one team take an early lead and zoom far ahead of all the others, making me wonder if the tasks were actually too easy for this class—and equally surprising to see how others were stymied with what I had thought would be the easier steps to navigate.

It all comes down to trying to see things from fresh eyes: the eyes of our own students. It's hard to see what a beginner sees in a subject the instructor has been swimming in for decades. What has become second nature to us as teachers might turn out to be what some commentators have dubbed "the curse of knowledge." It's a bias teachers naturally acquire by immersing ourselves in a subject for so long: although we can empathize, we no longer can see what it's like to encounter a subject afresh the way a novice would.

That's why I wondered whether taking on this exercise might be more of a lesson for the teacher than the learner. It became a chance for my students to teach me how they saw, for the first time, details that by repetition have become invisible to me. Teachers need to learn a way to put back into words the "second nature" experience we so take for granted. Our students certainly have no idea how to take that stuff for granted; it's all new to them. In some cases, we can't make it simple enough for first-time attempts at learning.

The best way to build confidence in learning is to learn how to deliver the learning process in even simpler steps. It's a drag to have to take a giant leap for that first step, but such an encouragement to find the process start out with steps small enough for us to race at with a flying leap. When we find that kind of entry to learning a new task, we're so much more ready to tackle step number two.

The Teacher as Learner

Western culture seems to have adopted the notion that, once we study enough to be awarded a degree, we have achieved a pinnacle and have no need to return to the classroom for any more learning. The learner has become the teacher, the expert.

Actually, as many have realized, when we stop learning, we stop growing. That sobering thought has been turned on its head with several "lifelong learning" programs, such as the collective efforts across the United States known as OLLI.

Beyond that, though, many teachers now know the way to keep their approach fresh is to continually be learning, themselves. That's why I've always valued conferences and institutes: when we expose ourselves to new ideas, we grow and improve.

Last week, I experienced a week full of learning. Of course it was inspiring, and I rode on that high for quite a few days. But now, it's time to apply what I've learned. I've gathered up my notes on one particular applied learning session and tried my hand at producing a hands-on learning exercise for my own students. Untried, untested—at least by me, the perpetual genealogy guinea pig—this experiment in learning the techniques of family history research will be launched in my classroom later today.

How it will turn out, I have no idea. That's where I become the learner: I will learn by my students' success...or failure...at demonstrating that they grasp the concepts we've been discussing. Nervous? You bet! This will all be exhilarating fun, or an excruciating flop. The key to the real learning—at least for this teacher—will be in the feedback received after the close of the exercise. Did it help? Was it confusing? What would make the effort more clearly understood? How can it change for the better?

Those are the test questions for this learner. The feedback loop will hopefully lead to improved quality for the next attempt. And the teacher-as-learner will be brave enough to repeat the learning cycle once again.