When There's a Job to be Done

 

Whether working in genealogical research or in any other line of work, to get a job done, you need the right tools. If this isn't the first time the job's been done, hopefully those tools will be found stored in the right place.

In the case of our task for August—the eighth of my Twelve Most Wanted for 2025 being my father-in-law's great-grandmother Johanna Falvey—I was unfortunately remiss in putting away those tools from the last time I visited this brick wall ancestor's records. Granted, I haven't struggled to piece together Johanna's story since July of 2020, so I guess a little self-forgiveness is in order. Besides, I made up for my shortcomings with some remedial effort yesterday.

Of all my gleanings on the Falvey family in the past, I gained the most information by emailing with an unlikely research partner: a Falvey descendant living halfway around the world from me. For almost five years, we had put our heads together over this research mystery, each of us sharing what we knew about our respective sides of the family. From time to time, we were joined in the conversation by mutual DNA matches, though even with all the input, we still couldn't pinpoint the most recent common ancestors back in County Kerry, Ireland.

Apparently, the Falvey family's descendants are widespread; among the contacts made were descendants all across the United States, as well as in Australia and New Zealand and, of course, Ireland. Comparing notes with several researchers keen on finding their roots can add up to a considerable amount of correspondence. Even if it is digital, it does take up storage space. And it still depends on the organizing skill of putting things where they can be easily found once again.

That was the main task at hand. I've always kept a set of digital folders in my email account for family research communication, organized by surname. At the end of this review session yesterday, I can now say all the Falvey communication is tucked away in its rightful place, having been reviewed as a launching pad for the continuation of this research journey in the coming weeks.

On Monday, I'll re-introduce Johanna Falvey and review what we've already uncovered about her story, but first, we'll need to check on that biweekly review tomorrow. Then, on to the brick wall battle for this month.

Confession of a Disorganized Researcher

 

Lately, it seems I've been seeing a lot of articles online about getting organized. Maybe it comes with the New Year buzz—"new year, new you" et cetera—or surfs the crest of the New Year's wave toward spring cleaning. Confession: when it comes to advice like that, I usually look the other way. One notorious quality of mine is my dis-organization, and I'm afraid I'll likely tend toward that fault in the future, as well. (Besides, I like chasing down those rabbit trails.)

On second thought, as I turn a blind eye and deaf ear (may as well be thorough) to those wise words about organization, I decided not to beat myself up so badly. I have, after all, set up a system to handle my family history explorations—that's a type of organization, isn't it? The overarching outline is the Twelve Most Wanted I've set as my research projects for each year, with the subheading of rounding up all DNA matches for each designated ancestor's descendants, primarily through Ancestry.com's ThruLines tool. 

Then there are those even-huger projects I've consistently tackled, like my year-long Tilson project to map out all that colonial family's descendants and verify their place in the tree via documentation—a task which is now reaching into its second year of work. I'm far from seeing the end of that line, but I have a system to work my way through each branch of that family tree. While my papers may seem disheveled and disorganized, my work flow follows a set pattern.

One result of that plan is seeing the progress on my biweekly check-in. Progress reports help bolster that energy which keeps a project moving forward. For instance, who wouldn't be encouraged to see 451 new individuals added to the family tree with two weeks' work? That's what happened in the last two weeks as I work through my mother's ancestral Carter family—and, of course, also keep plugging away at that Tilson project. That family tree now contains documents—digitized documents, of course—on 37,050 relatives. And that all happened, bit by bit. Over years.

Granted, there are some unexpected occurrences which do pop up, and there is always a way to fit those research surprises into the week. Discovery of a new DNA match on my mother-in-law's line called for a quick check of her records, which led to adding five new names to that tree, even though that's not part of my research task for January. Stuff happens, and sometimes the best time to handle the unexpected is right when it pops up. While that's not the main reason why my in-laws' tree now has 34,162 individuals—we'll get to that part of the research calendar in the spring—every little bit helps grow a family tree.

 

The Re-Do List

 

Do you ever write notes to yourself? You know, those scribbled items jotted on the first piece of scratch paper your hand could find in the frenzy of the moment.

And then, once the moment passed, did you forget to read your own mail?

Twenty years ago...

Yes, there was a time when I wrote such scrawled messages. I even put them in a safe place to take care of—later. That convenient follow-though time apparently never arrived, for now that I've done a deep dive for one particular genealogy file—and I even found it—I emerged at the surface with many scraps of paper clasped in hand.

Some of those notes were messages taken during the inevitable family calls that an aunt or uncle had passed away—saved so that, when the travel arrangements to attend the funeral were taken care of, I could revisit the note to enter the details in the proper place in the family tree. In this same category, though on a much more cheerful note, were the many holiday greeting cards and family newsletters with details on the ever-mounting count of great-grandchildren for cousins living across the continent. Though I'd likely never meet those descendants, their names and special dates deserve a place in our family tree—when I finally get around to it.

From that era before online access to historic newspaper holdings, photocopied pages from publications small and large have their place in those old files, as well. Noted in the margin are reminders to glean the information from the text and add it to the family tree. Bernie Guinan of Grafton visiting his uncle Hugh Quigley, noted in the May 31, 1899, Grand Forks, North Dakota, Daily Herald meant I could connect those specific in-laws to the descendants of one of my father-in-law's Tully aunts, bit by bit piecing the family constellation together. Or I could follow the many New York City and Long Island newspaper articles chronicling my own father's musical career during the big band era.

All of which needed to—eventually—be converted to electronic notes in the family tree. 

But didn't get done.

When I went looking for that list of Flanagan burials earlier this summer, unearthing that one single file folder unleashed an avalanche of other notes needing to be attended to, as well. Let's just say those old to-do lists now need a re-do. This has begun the first step of a long walk down memory lane as I revisit the events which originally prompted those notes. And that's been a good thing, not just for getting those file cabinets re-organized, but for the mind and heart journeys the process has induced.

Sometimes, genealogy is not just for passing things along to the next generation. Sometimes, it is for us, as well. 

Spring Cleaning So Soon?

For some of us, snow is still lingering on the frozen ground, so the thought of spring cleaning may seem premature. But with time hanging heavy on our hands as we shelter-in-place, it helps to turn our thoughts to taking action. What better way to get something done than jump into spring cleaning?

I recently stumbled upon a link I had saved from a genealogist (and suspected shirttail relative to my mother-in-law) which seems timely for those of us antsy to get something done around this house we're trapped in. Though it was a post and podcast from last fall, it still applies aptly to our current situation.

The topic Amy Johnson Crow was discussing was actually focused on downsizing and decluttering, but the same principles apply any time we are reorganizing for space and sanity, especially concerning those ever-burgeoning family history files.

In Amy's podcast interview with professional organizer Janine Adams—herself a family history enthusiast—she brought up some key thoughts. The prime consideration is to realize our task—whether downsizing, decluttering, or routine spring cleaning—is not just about regaining space; it's "a matter of preservation."

"You can't keep everything," Amy Johnson Crow reminds her audience, which means the process involves thinking out those inevitable decisions. You don't have to plow through this project alone, though, as her podcast guest Janine Adams points out, providing examples of how she approached these decisions along with other family members.

There are a number of resources for gaining guidance on preservation of family treasures, including another of my favorite genealogy bloggers, Houston County, Tennessee, archivist Melissa Barker.

If you're up for delving into the problem-solving process of decluttering in time for this year's spring cleaning, you'll find each of these three family-history-friendly women full of advice on how to proceed with your project.

Getting a Handle on That Round Tuit

So many tasks, so little...wait! We've got more time on our hands now than we've had in a long while. It seems this month has been raining down "round tuits" and all we have to do is reach out and grab some.

This week, since all the time I used to swallow up by driving to meet people has been redeemed by staying at home, I've had plenty of opportunities to come up with creative solutions to time wasting usage. Last week, all I could think of was to wonder how all my family and friends were doing, stuck in their own ivory towers. This week, thankfully, I'm more energized by the thought of tackling some hands-on projects that have long needed the attention.

Surprise! I've finally tapped into a wealth of round tuits! This week, it seems, we all are rich in round tuits.

There are quite a few genealogy-oriented tasks that fall in this category. The main goal is to do something active, instead of just sitting around, looking at a computer. Of course, going to the library is out. Nix a trip to the archives, too. But there has got to be something that gets us moving while accomplishing a long-neglected item on our genealogy to-do list.

I've got plenty of candidates for this. Remember all those photos which need to be scanned? (And labeled, too!) Documents in old files which could better be handled if scanned and stored digitally, instead of collecting dust or hogging space in boxes out in the garage? You get the idea. We may think our family history is kept in tidy electronic folders and databases, but those of us who started this research journey before the advent of online FamilySearch or Ancestry.com know better. We have papers to show for it.

I don't know what mountains of paper you have yet to move from your back office or garage, but I know what I have to face: I'm a lifelong writer of notes-to-myself. These are the little bits of scrap paper upon which I've scribbled a reminder to check up on a name, get an obit, or mind another task which goes far beyond the problem I currently was handling. It represents those to-do items that don't fit in just now...but then never seem to fit into the picture at any later time, either.

I started conquering that mountain of notes-to-self yesterday, and I realized the hazard of such a move. One tiny three-by-four card with a name and a date and "get obit" scribbled across the face of it opened the door to an hours-long process of cleaning up an entire branch of my mother-in-law's family tree. (Why it always impacts my mother-in-law's tree, I'll never know; it just seems like it.)

Now, I have even more notes-to-self telling me where to go back and straighten out the mess I made yesterday, while "cleaning up" that item the reminder was prompting me to attend to yesterday. Work multiplies. I can vouch for that. It may take me the rest of this entire week to clean up that one well-meaning attempt to organize yesterday. But who cares? Those of us who do not succumb to the corona virus may have another month, sequestered at home, ahead of us. And enough round tuits to fill the void for each of the days ahead.

Leaning in to the Malaise

If you find yourself sinking deeper into a sense of malaise, you are not alone. "Safer at Home" may have a more comforting ring to it than the you're-stuck-now "shelter in place" directive, but the abrupt about-face in everyone's day-to-day schedule is beginning to wear.

Last week, I had a strong sense that, despite not being able to get together with friends and fellow genealogical society members, the most therapeutic thing we could do for each other was to keep in touch. Not physically, of course, but by reaching out through text messages, emails, social media, or even those old-fashioned phone calls where, you know, people still can talk to each other.

This week, I'm taking my personal pick-me-up cue from a friend, and focusing on taking action. That friend, in a social media post last week, mentioned that she had just cleaned out a closet which she had apparently not attended to for thirty years. Imagine the history. Or at least the dust.

At first, it inspired me to find something to do—and I mean physically do. There are always a lot of items on that to-do list that never seem to see the light of day. There is always too much else to do to get it all done, but now that we have the "luxury" of more time on our hands, well, there ya go.

But then, I realized there was a second reason this would be a worthwhile idea for our current situation: the psychology of the activity. It can be downright depressing to think there is "nothing we can do" in the face of this crisis. It seems like a hurry-up-and-wait dilemma, with no end date in sight. Taking action—any type of positive, physical action—in the face of this barrier can give us an opposite feeling of taking charge or making a difference. Even if it is just cleaning out that forsaken storage closet.

Taking steps toward a worthwhile goal helps kick in those creative juices we call upon for problem solving. While the problem we solve will certainly not be as weighty as finding a cure for a newly-generated virus, the action of solving our problem will generate its own sense of accomplishment. That, in turn, leads to encouragement and the sense that, in doing something, we are taking back control over our own lives.

There are plenty of tasks out there, er, in here to conquer. Some may be work-oriented or focused on home life. Others, especially for those of us who are drawn to family history, may help us achieve our genealogy goals in a more organized manner. After all, who doesn't have files, documents, photos, or family papers yet to organize? And this week, we can all get around to it. And begin to feel better about our situation.

Meanwhile, Chattering Away in the Background

After this genealogy guinea pig bared her soul and confessed her more-than-disorganized research shortcomings yesterday, a few thoughts popped up and demanded a postscript. Today, they will have their moment in court.

No matter how organized a researcher hopes to be, the truth of the matter is that the minutiae of organization seldom makes for exciting scripts. First-I-did-this-and-then-I-did-that can be mind-numbing in its exquisite organization. For the most part, I spare you that detail. I am, after all, focused on the story, not the snooze.

However, much like the teletype machine in the old-fashioned newsroom, my research is chattering away in the background. Only rarely does the bell go "ding" to alert everyone of a breaking story. Meanwhile, center stage holds the unfolding of another story's account—while the real work is getting done behind the scenes.

That is the type of drudgery I mentioned yesterday: that relentless fine-tooth-comb cleaning process, with every step calculated to miss not a speck of misplaced conclusions. While that is necessary, it makes for boring copy. But if I don't keep at it—in the background, of course—I never get the chance to stumble across an interesting aberration which will alert me to that next fascinating family history story.

So, this week, while leading up to the story of how two Georges—and not the ones you had been thinking—might have been the namesakes for Georgetown in the Washington, D.C., area, behind the scenes, I've been methodically combing through the entire Gordon family tree.

I'm far from done with this process, of course. There were too many Gordons per generation to make this an easy exercise. But thanks to this periodic review, I do discover branches that were entirely omitted the last time I passed this way, or which now can be joined to the freshly-digitized historical records added to the online collections I frequent. Often, these updates lead me to new details, some of which even include a story or two.

Now that the Gordon story has led me back yet another generation, I'll add documentation to my mother-in-law's tree to connect John Gordon to his father George. Not that the story is now completed—finding George only dredges up further questions in my mind, of course—but it will take its place in the ebb and flow of research. At some point, I'll set it aside and let it rest until more can be found to bring me back even farther—to Scotland, perhaps. But I'm a firm believer in not banging my head against a wall; when the trail goes cold, it's time to switch tracks and pursue a more profitable course along another surname's line.

And for our current plans, that is exactly what we'll be doing. I mentioned one of the reasons I was delighted to find the Tenmile Country book is that it included some other surnames which intertwined with my mother-in-law's Gordon line. One of those lines was that of a family—or maybe more than one family—named Rinehart. Thankfully, the Rinehart line is mentioned in that same Tenmile Country book, and will be the family history we will turn our attention to, next week.

Meanwhile, like that teletype machine, you can be sure my check-the-records routine will continue to chatter away in the background while, on center stage, we roll out another family story.

Who, Me? Organized?!

People who jump into the world of genealogical research eventually discover their crying need to become organized. There is a serious risk that the paper trail which once tantalized us can turn vicious and eventually swallow us whole—unless we have a plan, that is.

With that said, I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought that someone considered me to be organized. Who, me? Organized? I had to laugh when I saw a reader's comment on Monday's post about research journals. Janet was too kind when she characterized me as "very organized"—but her question about research routines does resonate with many of us, I suspect. So, I promised her I'd take some time to discuss that today—and I hope you will feel free to share your thoughts on this topic, as well.

But first, a caveat: remove any notion that you are reading the words of an organized person. If you want advice from someone like that, consider following certified professional organizer, Janine Adams of Saint Louis, who fell in love with family history several years ago and now not only blogs about life organization, but also has a separate blog dedicated to specific tips for genealogists, as well. Best of all, she has a continuing series called "How They Do It," which features tips from some well-known genealogists.

I suppose I should briefly explain why I don't consider myself a worthwhile example of organizational prowess, at least in the realm of genealogy. First of all, I am an autodidact, but not because of any personal choice; when I first wanted to learn about genealogy, there was no one to really help me learn. That episode occurred roughly at the age of eight, when my halting question to the children's librarian got me pointed in the direction of the adult section of the local library and to the spot reserved for those who were curious about their American-cousin chances of succeeding to the British throne. The verbiage in those pedigree tomes was far too dry for anyone of my tender age, and I soon gave up my desire to pursue the topic.

By the time I was able to strike out on my own, it was following my college years. By then, those general research skills applied to surviving term paper assignments did enable me some moderate success, but in truth, while that could be considered assembling the history of my family, it certainly wasn't adequate to compiling a thorough genealogical proof argument. By the advent of publicly-accessible online resources, even then, my learning was peer-to-peer based, with many of us sharing resources and thinking out problems collectively through online conversations, not necessarily focusing on the proper techniques of genealogical research.

It wasn't until the last ten years or so that I've been able to access serious training on research techniques, mostly through workshops and classes offered in tandem with genealogy conferences and institutes. My collection of genealogy books has skyrocketed at the same time, revealing that persistent autodidactic streak.

That said, while I do have a research routine, you'd have to think of it in terms of its contrast with linear thinking; mine is omni-directional. Instead of simply moving from Point A to Point B, working backwards in time, my line of questioning when dealing with a new research goal first starts by reaching out in all directions. I learn to ask questions—questions about everything I'd want to know about an ancestor. Tracking the progress in answering those questions often takes the form of what is sometimes called mind-mapping.

Then, in pursuing any given research problem, I like to borrow a concept from the world of pedagogy: the contrast, in teaching, between "content" and "process." The content, in seeking information on a given ancestor, might be the details of that person's life: where she was born, where she lived, what childhood and adult life might have been like for a person in her lifespan and community. The process, by contrast, would be the methods I use to wrap my head around understanding that content. Where can I find my answers? Which resources would best address my questions about this research goal? How far afield of the basic B-M-D routine do I want to stray? How long will I have to look until I can read between the lines or find the story on that person's life?

Wandering down that "process" path can use up an inordinate amount of research time, but deciding whether the time expended is "worth it" takes a judgment call which only comes with the experience of doing it in the past. Perhaps there is a sixth sense, when it comes to sniffing out a story—and for me, it's not so much the vital stats I'm after when I research an ancestor; it's recreating that living, breathing person so I can better appreciate that person's life experience that I seek. Such a journey may lead to a government office, but it could just as well lead to a book—or to walking the very same path an ancestor walked to school, or work, or church.

Vital to that process is learning the skill of asking questions—which again requires me to put myself in that ancestor's shoes and follow that meandering, mind-mapping path. Every fact, if we think about it, can prompt further lines of questioning—if, at least, we are open to learning more about the context of our ancestors' lives and not just the surface content. Pursuing those questions can lead to what I referred to last Monday—that "research routine" checklist of go-to resources I can't fail to include. I have some sources I usually consider, and they do reach far beyond the first stops of Ancestry.com or FamilySearch.org. Books, journals, newspapers, manuscripts—even (maybe especially) those outside the field of genealogy—can yield much more information than those dusty government documents we are used to consulting.

While all that may seem a rather haphazard approach to research, I do have one aspect to the process which is strictly routine: I periodically review all my work, as captured in my genealogical databases. I regularly take a family line and start from one end of the surname—usually the progenitor—and work my way from parents to children and then to their children, taking each child in age order, to check whether any new resources can be found to add to what I've already discovered. I check the resources I've already attached to each specific person—census records for each decade of that person's lifespan, plus birth, marriage, and death records and corroboration—to make sure I haven't missed any available record. I step beyond that point to scour newspaper collections and other written material for additional mentions of that individual.

And then, I move on to the next oldest child and repeat. Yes, I work on each of the collateral lines as that is sometimes where I can break through a brick wall on a sibling. This may seem like a tedious process—especially considering I have two different trees which each contain roughly twenty thousand individuals—but in the review, I often spot areas which need additional support, or even outright correction.

Does all that sound like one big, hot mess? Now you see why I laugh to think anyone would consider me organized. But I tackle that approach relentlessly—sometimes, just working my way through Ancestry on my phone while standing in line at a store—and ultimately clean up a bunch of tangled research trash.

I've always liked that proverb, "Where no oxen are, the crib is clean; but much increase is by the strength of the ox." In other words, if you want something that looks organized—clean and always orderly in appearance—perhaps the only way you can achieve that state is when no work gets done. In order to tackle those unyielding research problems, sometimes you have to get down and dirty and wrestle the answers out. The brute force of the research process can sometimes get messy. And messy never looks "organized."

Just remember, after the project is finished, to put everything back away in its place—if your project ever gets done. And we all know that family tree is never completed. ;)

Time to Get to Work

Today may be the springboard into another weekend—another weekend leading up to the holidays, no less—but that doesn't signal any excuses to kick back and forsake those research goals. This coming Sunday leaves only five weeks until I fly to the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy. It's time to get all my Virginian ancestors organized for a great research opportunity. After all, my SLIG treat is to attend what may be Barbara Vines Little's last class on Virginia research there.

It would be so much easier if I could say I have one ancestral line to trace through to colonial Virginia. That, of course, turns out to be a far simpler task than I'd hoped. It turns out I have quite a few roots leading back to The Old Dominion—some of those ancestors taking the back roads, and not being particularly helpful in leaving clues as to the trail they took.

In planning out my own research journey (metaphorically speaking, of course; I'm not about to take any road trips before Christmas), I'll be taking the next week to scope out the lay of the land for several ancestral lines, as well as take time to introduce and review each family's migratory situation. I know, for instance, where these families came from, and where they eventually ended up—it's just their time while staying in Virginia that defies documentation.

In order to know where we're going with our research, it helps to know what we already have in hand—an inventory, of sorts, of the scattered bits and pieces already gathered about each of several ancestral families. From that inventory, hopefully, we can launch out into fresh research directions and lay out where else we can obtain records on the missing data for each generation.

Besides helping to orient this researcher in preparation for class at SLIG, there's another reason for organizing this inventory. After all, I will be spending a week a mere block away from one of the largest genealogical libraries in the continent. I may not be able to find what I'm seeking on these Virginia families online, but I may be able to identify resources in Salt Lake City which will help answer some research questions. In a library that size, it's always better to gather that go-to resource list before arriving in town. I may have a week ahead of me, but I don't have a moment to lose!

Day Thirty-Two: Photo Finish

It all ended with "Y" for Y2K. It's a good thing there was no "Z." I really needed to be finished. I suspect you needed it, too.

Projects like a Fall Cleanup can be wearying. The tedious multiple decision points reassert themselves all too often. In the face of indecision, that resolve to steadily advance can strip gears—or at least wear some tread off the tires of progress.

To think that my file cabinet was crammed full of printed copies of twenty year old emails was sobering. Running into a folder still in my possession labeled "Y2K" gives you an idea how badly needed this errand had become.

Granted, much of the information was, at one point, valuable material to people groping blindly in the ether of the newly-minted online genealogical scene. As research opportunities rapidly unfolded over the years, who wanted to stop tap dancing long enough to review—and toss—the already-filed tidbits which might, by then, have become stale-dated. I certainly didn't.

Looking back at this month of re-discovery—hey, I had that in my files?!—drew out some moments to reflect on the vastly changed state of online genealogical research, sure, but it also reminded me of a kinder, more cordial time in which fellow researchers of all stripes, professional or avocational, responded to each other as colleagues pursuing a fascinating mission. It was a time when fellow researchers aired their well-reasoned discussions publicly on the pros and cons of a given theory of ancestry, in the hopes of mutually assisting others pursuing the same family lines.

This month of the Fall Cleanup also reminded me of the friendships forged during that process, and caused me to wonder whether any of those researchers with whom I shared extensive discourses on our mutual ancestors might still be out there. Are they still researching? Did they ever find the answers to the questions that frustrated their progress? I'm tempted to try and contact some of them and see if there is a twenty-years-afterwards story to be found. After all, these were—and still are, hopefully—all distant cousins. Sadly, I already know some of the seniors whom I wrote back then are no longer here. But for those of us who were then young moms juggling home life (and possibly a simultaneous career) while pursuing our genealogical passions, there is a chance that we can still reconnect.

There is, of course, more work to do on my file cabinet. Yes, I cleared out the bottom drawer and then conquered the top drawer full of genealogical treasures, but there are two other drawers filled with material yet to be vanquished. Those two drawers, however, belong to different compartments of life—slices of life outside the realm of genealogy, where I put on such masks as home educator or nonprofit organization newsletter editor. No role was as satisfying as the one which was my first childhood call and most lasting heart's desire: to preserve the stories of the family members who've gone on before me.

I suspect routing those other two drawers won't be as taxing as the ordeal of the last month. While there might have been some sentimental attachment to a first newsletter published for a fledgling organization, that comes in a distant second to the passion of family history; it will be easy to chuck what needs to be tossed there. I won't feel the need to talk about it, pine over the times long gone, or mourn the passing of a connection, so don't expect a blow-by-blow report on progress.

Eventually, I'll face the need to make decisions about what to back-fill in the spaces now liberated from their twenty-year-long burden. I have more genealogical files in storage which need to see the light of day—and face their day in "court." But I doubt I'll either substitute one set of files for another or create a whole new stash with the research I accomplish in the future. Times are changing and the research methods of the early twenty first century are already a far cry from those of the 1990s—who's to say how things will change in the next twenty years? I certainly won't want to create the next era's monster mess.

Looking back, it was probably a good experience to go through all these files. From nostalgia to exhaustion to sheer grit, the month evoked a wide range of emotions—but these were all feelings that probably should have been dealt with about fifteen years earlier than they were, if I weren't so busy living the life I led back then. There is always something to face, however, and there is no time like the present to get a job done. I guess this October was just the time for me to do it.

   
Above: "Boulevard Clichy in the Snow," 1886 oil on canvas by French Impressionist Paul Signac; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Day Thirty-One: Scary

One month in on my Fall Cleanup project, and I am just now hitting the folder for "S." Scary. There's not much month left in this marathon.

Notwithstanding the fact that my own surname begins with that letter, thankfully, the folders I'm routing from my old file cabinet contained papers from my earliest years of online research for my family's roots. Back then, I had started with my mother-in-law's lines; the pursuit of my father-in-law's Irish roots came much later.

Still, my mother-in-law had her own fair share of surnames beginning with that popular letter of the alphabet. Snider, for one. Then Stine.

The first of those names claimed a thick file. A very thick file. I've heard it said that Snider is one of most common surnames in the state of Ohio, and I believe it. Finding the right Snider was a challenge that many of us addressed in online forums, back in the 1990s, apparently. And I was the one to insure that all those threads got printed up and preserved for posterity.

Well, my progeny can now heave a sigh of relief. I tossed almost all of the Snider speculations—plus a good handful of other people's family group sheets and IGI leftovers. Anything I'd want to add to my own database, I'd first want to have accompanied by some solid documentation, thank you.

Stine was a different matter. It may have taken me twenty years to get up to speed on Snider, but Stine had definitely been reserved a permanent seat on the back burner. Like Rinehart from yesterday's cleanup, Stine was a name oft talked about, yet not really successfully pinned in the right spot on the genealogical database. Like Snider, Stine was a name which many people in Pennsylvania and Ohio claimed, but few aligned with my family's story.

When I began this project at the beginning of October, it wasn't as if I had decided to complete it all in one month. But I thought it would be nice. At least, it would make a tidy package: all wrapped up in one month sounded inspiring.

When I got mired in the Flowers part of my family's surname alphabet, though, I gave up hope on that prospect, forgetting that letters like "I" or "K" might not present as daunting a heap of work to conquer.

Now, facing that last stretch from "S" to the end of the line, the rest of the day may yield me the prize: an empty file cabinet drawer, ready to be filled with all the rest of the genealogical files I've currently relegated to storage boxes tucked away in the far reaches of the house. I already know that the folder for "T" will not contain any Tully information, because I hadn't yet tackled that research problem—though it does also include a file for Taliaferro, that surname which gained me entrance to Daughters of the American Revolution.

Maybe, just maybe, since I've already overcome the hump that is "S," I can reach the goal of making it to "Z" before the day—and the month—is out.  

Above: "Glen Birnam," oil on canvas circa 1890 by English artist Sir John Everett Millais; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain. 

Day Thirty: Wait! Thirty?

I thought this month would never finish, but now that it has—nearly—I'm wishing for more time.

Today, in my Fall Cleanup project, I squarely faced the task of dispatching all the files in the folder for "R." Yes, that meant double-checking each of the issues of the Rootsweb Review before tossing it—mainly a perfunctory exercise. But it also meant uncovering an equally hefty folder under the heading for one surname I've yet to conquer: Rinehart.

The contents of the folder included genealogies offered up by several other researchers on this particular Rinehart line—from Greene County, Pennsylvania, some of whose descendants migrated to Perry County, Ohio—including their speculations on just what the roots of this family might have been.

I say "speculations" because that is all we were left with: guesses. No one seemed—at least, back in the 1990s when I last addressed this puzzle—to have found any documentation for any of the assertions which had been flung across the nascent Internet with abandon.

At least one of the people in on this Rinehart discussion was a woman who had a copy of her grandfather's journal, in which he had been careful to note his recollections of various long-gone family members. That was about the closest we could come to knowing anything for sure.

When you think about it, someone recalling, in the 1990s, a by-then deceased grandfather might have been referring to someone born in the 1890s. That grandfather, in turn, might have been able to remember stories of his ancestors which stretched back another hundred years. It might be feasible to conclude that such a person might have had enough time on his hands to actually be accurate in recording his memories.

Or not. We all know how family legends evolve.

Finding the Rinehart file and all the conversations surrounding this one root in my mother-in-law's heritage made me wonder whether I could now piece together all these hints and assumptions and draw up a tentative proposal for a family tree. That, in turn—somewhat like search angels might do for an adoptee hoping to find a birth family—might be a solid enough hypothesis to run through some stringent tests to see if supporting documentation can be located. After all, it's been almost twenty years since I addressed this research issue. A lot has materialized in digitized records—and even in finding aids for local collections.

With that in mind, I ended up keeping about seventy percent of the Rinehart file I originally started out with. It's still a sizeable stack. I assuaged my organizing alter ego by means of a reminder that I had just tossed an entire folder of like size not one hour previously. Surely that would count for something.

Above: "Farmhouses with Autumn Colored Trees," undated oil on cardboard by German landscape painter Walter Moras (1856 - 1925); courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Day Twenty-Nine: Oh, My! Ohio!

Don't think it was with one monstrous leap that I flew from "M" to "O" in my Fall Cleanup project. Rather, thanks go to the fact that this is, after all, the weekend, when there always seems to be more time for cleaning.

The folder for "M" did indeed present a tedious review of some old printouts of early online genealogical publications. Still, I couldn't help myself: I had to look at every page, to insure I wasn't throwing out anything priceless. I confess to saving one item: a genealogy joke especially designed for history lovers of the antiquities kind.

The letter "M" kept me busy for many more reasons than just reviewing The Missing Links editions for 1999 onward. Keep in mind, I have two major family lines claiming their own files in that folder.

One of those lines was for my McClellan family in territorial Florida. Starting with my third great grandfather, George Edmund McClellan, I've been able to track almost all his descendants down to the present day. But before that? Nothing. He's one of my persistent brick walls. Yet, buried within the "M" folder, today I found some helpful notes from a distant cousin.

The only reason I met this McClellan cousin back in the 1990s was courtesy of the old Family Tree Maker policy allowing a customer to request the name and address of the submitter of a matching family tree. My file folder included a stack of photocopies of material later sent to me by this cousin. I couldn't help myself: I started working on that material right in the middle of the cleaning process. Talk about getting sidetracked.

Following that, my roots in New York City presented a file with information on how to access records in The Big Apple, 1990s style. "Reclaim the Records" hadn't yet come of age when I was stowing paper in that NYC file folder. A lot can happen in twenty years, making most of that file's contents modern day recycling fodder.

But when it came to "O"—oh, what a stash that file was. Remember, it was for my mother-in-law's family that I had tried my first tentative steps in online research. (Before that, I had done years of extensive work on another family constellation based in California, but that was working the process the old-fashioned way.)

Many of the pages in that file for Ohio included references to websites with promising resources. While I made mental notes that many of the resources now could be accessed through more modern, updated websites, there were a few such notes that I just had to set aside and check out. Call it the pull of The Bright Shiny.

I remembered using one of those websites mentioned in those notes. It was a useful section on the site of the Ohio Historical Society. Back then on that site, a researcher could pull up a digital copy of old death certificates of Ohio residents if the person had died within the right set of years in the early 1900s. Now? Well, I had to take a look.

Sadly, the web address didn't lead to the right page. Searching the site internally didn't bring up the page, either, despite there being a link provided for the right topic. It led to an error message.

I couldn't just walk away and be satisfied with that answer, though, so I googled it. According to Joe Beine's site, there were other, updated, resources to obtain the same stuff. The Ohio Historical Society still has an option to search the death index, though it is a stripped down version of what I remember using, back in the 1990s. Forget that, though: FamilySearch itself promised a version with "name index and images of Ohio statewide death certificates" for the same date range as I remember seeing before. Only caveat: once entering a name, the website requires that I sign in, then pops up to tell me I need to access the records at one of three types of family history centers.

Strangely, after all that, it gives me the image anyhow.

It would be unreasonable to assume that any resources gleaned from projects tackled nearly twenty years ago could come from sites now still viable, of course. And that's what enables me to blitz through all these file folders so blithely in this cleaning task. As in any other field, there is a constant state of flux in the realm of genealogy. What's changing is certainly not those static records of people now no longer in their own dynamic state, but how we locate the information we seek about them—a good reminder to always be on our toes about being fresh with our own continuing education efforts.

Above: "Wheatstacks, Snow Effect, Morning," 1891 oil on canvas by French Impressionist artist Claude Monet; courtesy Google Cultural Institute via Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Day Twenty-Eight: The Afterburners Kick In

Escaping from the folders for "F" and "G" in my Fall Cleanup project was a significant accomplishment. The first surname I cut my teeth on, in those preemie online genealogical research years, was my mother-in-law's name: Flowers. Then followed the next surname, one in which I met and developed an online friendship with a fellow researcher seeking the same Gordon family as I. Oh, how much I had accumulated back then, when online research was new and everyone was reaching out and finding themselves in the digital ether. There was a lot to review, to assess, to toss or revamp.

Now free from those memories encumbrances, I'm seeing progress accelerate. Thankfully. Here's the Reader's Digest version of my conquests for today.

"H" was a null set. Thankfully, no surnames of significance there. I got a free pass to the next letter in the alphabet.

"I" was for the Indiana.edu Listservs, complete with directions on how to access the conversations, how to subscribe to specific groups, and how to behave one's self with the new online etiquette. It's easy to see that made a quick leap into the recycling bin. After all, what could be so 1990s as a Listserv?

"J" was another free pass for me. That was before I discovered my paternal grandmother's mother was indeed a Jankowski. I'm glad I've since made that discovery, but for now, I'm ecstatic to be moving along in this cleanup project so quickly.

"K" was a folder with only one file, but the consequences for this file's topic could have been extensive, since my husband has not one, but two distinct Kelly families in his roots. However, the one file still remaining in the cabinet was for copies of all the obituaries received on the one Kelly family from Fort Wayne. I already know I have them transcribed into my desktop database, but I'll double-check for sure. Besides, I could be a conscientious volunteer and share them on their respective memorials at Find A Grave.

When I came to the file for "L," it slowed me in my tracks...slightly. Once again, I hadn't yet discovered all I've subsequently learned about my paternal side's Laskowski immigrants, so there was no folder drawn up for that name. However, the one file under that letter contained something I still may find useful: directions on how to navigate the old land grant records. The contents of the file were mainly copies of old articles by—there she was, again—Myra Vanderpool Gormley, posted on an old Prodigy "interactive personal services" bulletin board in the mid-1990s.

Lest you assume I'm finally on a roll—after all, there are still more folders to conquer than there are days remaining in the month—this juggernaut came to a screeching halt at the folder for "M." After all, a letter with this much magnetism sucks more than its fair share of content from any given topic. Of course, it doesn't help that one of the online newsletters of the time—which I had a strange compulsion to print and stash—was named Missing Links. While the file may be amply filled to bulging, though, I suspect it will easily be dispatched into the awaiting circular file.

Beyond that, hopefully it will be clear sailing through the rest of the alphabet, as the cabinet drawer is much more than half empty.

Or would that be half full?

About this cleaning duty, does that make me an optimist? Or a pessimist?

Above: "Early Snow," late 19th century painting by Ukrainian-born Russian artist, Konstantin Kryzhitsky; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain. 

Day Twenty-Seven: Remember the Godfrey?

It has been an interesting exercise, this Fall Cleanup purge of old files in my genealogical file cabinet. Besides evoking many fond memories of online friendships with fellow researchers, the process has uncovered resources from bygone days, prompting thoughts about the evolving state of our research.

Today, I ran across a folder for the Godfrey Memorial Library. Apparently still in operation, situated in Middletown, Connecticut, the library houses an enviable collection of genealogical books and resources. However, not to be limited by geographical confines, in 2002, the library developed the "Godfrey Scholar," an online resource allowing subscribers anywhere, for a modest fee, to access some material on their holdings, as well as gain entrance to some other key online resources.

It wasn't until 2006 when I first decided to join the ranks of the Godfrey scholars, something I can still say with certainly, because the folder for today's Fall Cleanup happened to contain my welcome letter, from then-director Thomas Jay Kemp, as "the newest member of our library." Along with the letter came a genuine hand-inscribed membership card, directions for entering the "portal," and a copy of the Summer 2005 edition of The Godfrey Update.

Over the years, changes to the Godfrey Scholar program seemed to yield less and less satisfying resources, at least for my research needs, and I eventually abandoned the subscription. In its place were so many other new options, the decision wasn't hard to make.

Isn't the world of genealogy like that? In a meeting for one of our local genealogy society's special interest groups yesterday, someone had commented that "beginners" classes aren't really just for true neophytes, but often benefit those who do know something about genealogy—but only how to do it the old way. Genealogy classes today aren't just about genealogy per se, but are also about how to access digitized records, and where to find them. There are so many new websites now available—and even the more established sites are so thick with information that it seems beneficial to spend some serious time with a tutorial on how to use the old, familiar ones.

For us as genealogists and history lovers, nostalgia may be our hidden vice. We may pine for such long-gone resources as I'm re-discovering in my file cabinet, but with so many new options making their appearance online, this is hardly time to mourn those changes. In a matter of days, Find A Grave will have a new look. Rootsweb, the old stalwart of 1990s researchers, will soon follow with changes of its own.

Meanwhile, as online genealogy mailing lists and message boards die out, new options spring up to become the next generation's avenue for research connectivity. Genealogist Katherine R. Willson publishes a directory of the more than eleven thousand English language Facebook pages and groups related to genealogy from around the world. Following Katherine's lead, Gail Dever created Facebook for Canadian Genealogy as a guide to the eight hundred Facebook resources—in either English or French—focusing on Canadian genealogy. Alona Tester created a guide for those interested in Facebook for genealogy in Australia. Undoubtedly, there are finding aids for Facebook resources in other languages, as well.

While digitized records represent only the tip of the historical documents iceberg, those online resources we now know about—and know how to use—are themselves but the tip of another iceberg, one representing a future avalanche of information downloads. We simply must resign ourselves to the concept that, from now on, learning "genealogy" will not only be a matter of understanding how to document our family history, but a matter of learning how to find, access and master the mushrooming amount of upcoming resources which will provide us those documents.

Above: "The First Snow, Minnesota," 1895 oil on canvas by German-born American artist Robert Koehler; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.
        

Day Twenty-Six: G is for Gaining Ground

Once I cleared all the files in the "F" folder, I figured progress in my Fall Cleanup project would accelerate. Sure enough, it did.

First step in the folder for "G" topics was labeled, generically enough, "General Info on Genealogy." My, what a lot of old resources I found in that twenty year old folder! Most of them were for websites which have long been gone, or at least have morphed into other resources. Most, thankfully, were for topics for which I know I now have up-to-date resources, listed in my online records or in my much more concise notes.

It still amazes me to see how many people I was in touch with during those early days of online genealogical research. There were so many "lists" where people could exchange information—"listservs" from the University of Pennsylvania and other colleges, early computer services such as Prodigy, and, of course, the many mailing lists hosted by Rootsweb.

Not only were folks trying to compare notes on mutual connections with ancestors, but they were also keen on sharing great tips and resources. One man shared tips on how to visit a cemetery for family history purposes. A woman on a different mailing list provided a formula for determining a person's date of birth from the precise age at date of death (gleaned either from old headstones or from more recent death certificates). One wonderful, multi-post resource was a dictionary of archaic medical terms. Others shared a naming pattern, or the geometric progression of how many direct ancestors a given person could have. Someone shared a poem about genealogy.

Of course, many of these resources can now be accessed via online resources, but I didn't know that then. All I could do was figure out a way to be organized about saving all these bits of information in the filing system of the day. Mostly, it was a simple matter of finding a post and clicking on the button for "print." Presto: more stuff to file.

Some of those names from back in the 1990s are still around in the genealogy world today. Saved, among the papers in my many file folders, were excerpts from the "Rootsweb Review" for which I still remember the editor's name: Myra Vanderpool Gormley. Apparently—though in a different guise—she has been active in both writing and research ever since those early years in which I carefully saved her work from the Rootsweb days. Having published several books (including a last hurrah for Rootsweb, The Official Guide to Rootsweb.com, the same year she retired from the organization), she now even keeps up with a genealogy blog, which she dubbed "Shaking Family Trees."

And I thought all patron saints were from bygone centuries. Genealogy, it appears, is a different case.

The majority of the pages I unearthed from the folders in the "G" file found their new home in the nearest circular file. I have to confess, though: some gems were just too hard to toss. But they were only five or six. Maybe seven. Certainly no more than eight.

Above: "Rainy Day, Boston," 1885 oil on canvas by American Impressionist artist Childe Hassam; courtesy Google Art Project via Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Day Twenty-Five: More Friends

I hit the jackpot with today's Fall Cleanup folder. Remember how I kept waiting to run across the file for those letters exchanged with that first Flowers family researcher I met online? Well, when I was first setting up this file system for my genealogy "stuff," by the time I got to the letter for this person's surname in the Flowers folder, I must have gotten tired of having a separate file for each researcher, and lumped them all together under "Flowers—Misc."

That was back in the 1990s. Today is the day I got to go through all those emails. By the time I made my first pass through the stack, I was tempted to change the title of today's post to "Grunt Work." The reason? All the letters I decided to keep are for records or descriptions I need to confirm are part of my online tree. Thus, that folder now joins several others in moving from my genealogy file cabinet to a to-do stack for follow-through.

I ran across several other exchanges of correspondence from the late 1990s in that folder, reminding me of just how many others I had met and worked with in those early years of online research. Since that was nearly twenty years ago now, I'm realizing there is a secondary reason for me to keep these letters: nearly each one of them contains an explanation for just how they were related to my mother-in-law's Flowers line. Fast forward to today's research milieu, with matches for DNA cousins in the mix; perhaps these old connections—added to my tree, thanks to the records from those old letters—can help me place a few DNA matches.

Forget that; perhaps some of my husband's DNA matches are with the grandchildren of these researchers.

Above: "Lane at Gerolstein [Germany]," 1891 oil on board by German landscape painter Fritz von Wille; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Day Twenty-Four: When People Get to Talking

Despite my guess, yesterday, that the next folder to work through in my Fall Cleanup project would contain emails from the other Flowers researcher I had mentioned, it didn't. Apparently, I've forgotten just how many Flowers family genealogists were out there, eager to discuss their findings, back in 1999.

Before I could reach part of the alphabet—I had labeled the first folder "Flowers emails" and then added the last name of the person whose letters I had saved—there were two other folders with similar letter exchanges. One was devoted to notes with a man who was a prolific researcher on several family lines which crossed paths with my mother-in-law's lines, in which we had gone back and forth on a number of other surnames besides Flowers. The other folder contained emails which were an outgrowth of the earlier one, in which one by one, we Flowers researchers from Perry County, Ohio, found each other online.

Eventually, those emails became group emails, and before long, there were four of us sharing notes in this collaborative effort. Even after all these years—and despite my regular travels to Ohio—I have never met any of these researchers face to face (although I am now Facebook friends with one of them). Each of us had spent our fair share of time crawling around very old records from the region, and we enjoyed figuring out where our mutual connections were.

Even so, in short order, I was able to clean those files out completely. While reviewing the notes brought back fond memories, I know those lines so well now that I am certain the facts we covered then are now all documented and included in my online database. The only part I'm now holding on to are the several GEDCOMs each of us sent to the others. Basically, I've reduced all those letters down to about five or six reports. I'll likely spot check each of them against my database, then toss them, as well.

Recalling all those contacts met through the early years of online research makes me smile. Back then, genealogy was a team sport, not the game of solitaire it seems to have morphed into in our current situation. Still, family is family—and even now, there are opportunities to reach out and meet third or fourth cousins online. The "Make a Connection" link at Ancestry.com is just one of many ways to connect with other researchers who are also family members.

When I teach my beginning genealogy classes now, I use the examples of experiences such as these to try to encourage people to connect with fellow researchers. (And, of course, fervently hope the people they reach out to are as cordial in response as the ones I've met over the years.) Sometimes, these students take that advice to heart, and return to class full of excitement with encouraging stories of having met third cousins they never knew, who live close enough to visit. There is nothing as special as meeting family members you never knew you had—and then discovering they share that same love of family history. That's when a family search really becomes a family search. 

Still, while it was nice to recall that golden era of the early years of online research efforts today, it certainly felt good to rid myself of so much paper. Bit by bit, every piece of paper shed from those bulging file folders adds up to more space in that file cabinet for new projects.

Above: "Rainy Evening on Hennepin Avenue," oil on canvas, circa 1902, by German-born artist Robert Koehler; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Day Twenty-Three: Lost in More Letters

Yes, I know I'm still stuck on the letter "F"—don't think those "more letters" I mentioned refers to my suddenly conquering the back half of the top drawer in my file cabinet. Today's reference to letters is different. This time, I've been wandering around the pages of an old file which contained multiple email exchanges with another researcher who shared a joint interest with me in the Flowers family of Pennsylvania and then Perry County, Ohio.

Reading that old email exchange—most of the letters I saved were from 1999—caused me to realize something: printing out those old notes resulted in not only preserving my friend's letters to me, but also copied her copies of my letters to her. Not only did we discuss the Flowers lines we were researching, but also exchanged news of the things that were currently happening in our own lives. It's as if I just re-discovered some pages from my own diary. 

After dispatching a folder so quickly yesterday in my Fall Cleanup, it reminded me of my preferred method of online genealogical searching. You see, almost all of the material in yesterday's folder was gleaned from surname mailing lists. Since I'm still stuck in the "F" folder in my file cabinet, you know that surname would be for Flowers.

Researching via those old online surname lists, circa 1999, wasn't the fastest way to connect with others researching the same surname. Often enough, I found better results by looking at the online lists based on geographic locations. It was far better to subscribe to a list for, say, Perry County, Ohio, and then look for any posts on the Flowers surname, than it would be to go straight to the list for Flowers. This way, I could better focus on people who were also researching the specific line of that surname.

Despite that logic—and the subsequent technique which I did apply through many of my early online research years—two of my best connections were made through an online group called the Flowers Family Genealogy Forum at the now read-only website, GenForum.

I met the first of these two Flowers researchers early in 1998, when she had posted a note requesting to connect with any others who were researching this surname in either Pennsylvania or Ohio. Of course, you know I was on that, right away. Before long, the two of us were comparing notes and emailing GEDCOMs to each other from our respective Family Tree Maker databases.

Somehow, out of that connection emerged a second Flowers researcher. Those first emails from her  would actually come from her husband's account at a university in Indiana—the return address information took up half a page when I printed out the note. (She subsequently signed up for her own Yahoo email account, which streamlined the process.)

Not many people had access to email back then, I guess, and not many of those were using it for genealogical purposes. Of those who were, I met the most wonderful people. Letters which started out inquiring about jointly-shared ancestors often blossomed into friendly conversations about multiple interests.

I couldn't help myself today, trying to clear out all these old genealogy files: I got lost in the contents. Bottom line was I couldn't bring myself to toss a single one of those notes. And that was for just one file. I suspect, since this woman's own name comes before the other friend's name, alphabetically, that tomorrow's file will contain this other friend's email exchanges. I'm sure tomorrow's task will be equally bogged down as I lose myself in remembering many of the things mentioned in those notes.

Researching family history for so many years has one down side: though the camaraderie of collaboration was enjoyable, eventually the inevitable would happen. I can recall losing some good genealogy friends over the years, mainly because so many of them were quite older than I. In the case of the woman whose letters I reread today, though, I estimated she was likely about my age.

That, of course, makes me wonder whether she is still researching her Flowers ancestors now—and whatever became of life's dreams for her, those many other events she shared in our letters. I'm tempted to try that old Yahoo! email address and see if we can still connect. With the many changes in online genealogical research since we first met, back in 1998, I'm sure we both know so much more now about our respective ancestors.

Above: "Pont Boieldieu in Rouen, Rainy Weather," 1896 oil on canvas by Impressionist painter Camille Pissarro; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.  

Day Twenty-Two: A Quick Recap

It feels like I'm building momentum when I hit a stack of file folders which can be quickly dispatched into the recycling bin, but I have to remember it wasn't always like this in my Fall Cleanup project—and likely won't continue this way, either. I'm still in the "F" folder, but courtesy of my mother-in-law's maiden name—Flowers—and its many branches I've researched over the years, I'm, well, still in the "F" folder.

It was nice to toss the entire contents of today's file folder, which contained addresses and instructions for various early online resources for Flowers family history. Back during those earlier years of Rootsweb.com, several announcements came out regarding mailing lists for the Flowers line. Of course, back then in the 1990s, I was diligent to keep them all—not online, but printed and filed away in that folder for "F."

Now, those lists are antiquated, nearly ghost towns among the burgeoning new genealogy sites on Facebook. I didn't even need to think twice about whether I wanted to try and see if the addresses were still existent. My Flowers tree—with its many related lines—is so full of individual entries that it isn't even worth the time to ask myself such a question.

Meanwhile, it reminds me that today is my day to recap my research progress. I can't have managed to put too many new names on the four trees that I regularly tackle, considering how much time has been diverted to this Fall Cleanup exercise, but I still needed to take a look—even more so, keep track on my (now digital) tally sheets.

This becomes a reminder of how important it is to keep track of progress. No matter how fast or slow I work in each biweekly period, this reminds me that any work at all will equate to progress. And, when it comes to genealogical research, progress is all I ask.

So, how did things go on that Flowers line these past two weeks? With the exception of the DNA matches count at 23andMe (which always goes backwards, for some strange reason), I made progress. My mother-in-law's tree now has 12,822 people, including the eighty five person increase garnered in these past two weeks. My own mother's tree has 11,618—a similar increase of eighty nine. Even though my father's line has only 451 in the tree, I still managed to nudge that count up by one over the last two-week period. And my father-in-law's line also saw a small increase: eighteen more individuals, totaling 1,353.

Though the DNA matches for my family aren't under my direct control—it takes two to make a match, and I haven't yet figured out how to get a family member I don't yet know to take a DNA test—even there, I can see progress (well, with the exception of the retrograde 23andMe). I gained twenty six DNA matches at Family Tree DNA to total 2,459, while my husband gained seven to reach 1,568. At AncestryDNA, I gained twelve to total 753, and it was up nine for 367 for my husband. While yes, our numbers actually shrunk at 23andMe—mine by three to total 1152, and his by nine to reach 1,194—I'm more likely to cheer for upcoming holiday sales to boost the numbers at the other two companies than grumble about the disappearing cousins at 23andMe.

The main thing is to remember to find ways to encourage myself to continue the work. Whether for research progress in general or for specific tasks like this Fall Cleanup, even a little bit more at a time will, over the long run, yield progress.