For Auld Lang Syne: Reaching Back a Couple Years

It's not only this year's stories that have been cause for connecting to people around the world. Even after almost two years, I've gotten comments and emails from relatives of the people I've written about.

If you've been a reader here at A Family Tapestry for a while, perhaps you recall what I often refer to as my most outrageous family history discovery ever: the story of John Syme Hogue. Descendant of a longstanding respectable Virginia family with connections to the likes of our nation's first Supreme Court Chief Justice, John Marshall, John Syme Hogue was a distant cousin on my maternal grandmother's line.

It was not under such auspices that I first encountered John Syme Hogue's story, however. In research that chased that early twentieth century man from West Virginia across the midwest and into western Canada before his brother snatched him from the claws noose of death in Ontario, I uncovered a story which kept unfolding unbelievably from one episode to another. This is the stuff movies are made of, not real life. But this really was his life.

After his brother, Andrew O'Beirne Hogue, brought him home from his last escapade, John's life seemed to settle into a surreal normalcy—hard to believe, considering all that had preceded that earlier chapter in his life. And yet, I always wondered whether those who knew John after he returned home had any idea what had transpired before that return to normalcy. I had found a way to contact some of his descendants, but sent an introductory letter devoid of any hints of that wild, earlier life, in case family members weren't aware of what he had been rescued from. I never heard back from them.

Fast forward to this past summer, and a comment which appeared at my concluding post for the John Syme Hogue story. A descendant of John's brother—that sainted sibling who doubled as best friend and sage counselor—reached out to contact me. Sure enough, he seemed to indicate that what I suspected might indeed have been the way things were: that family now may not be aware of John's incredible personal saga.

While it's no secret that what intrigues me about family history is not just the names and dates of these ancestors but their stories, I'm not simply content to hear the part of the story I've been able to uncover through document research. I want to know the rest of the story—the impact it had on others in the family, the repercussions it had in the person's life from that point onward. That's what I still hope to discover about John Syme Hogue and his descendants and relatives. I still wonder whether, when John arrived back home for good, his past history was swallowed up in a rehabilitating silence—meant all for the good, of course—but never again referred to, despite its being part of his legacy.

Some day, I hope to revisit this story from a different slant: the repercussions it had on others, both in West Virginia and in Canada. Did whatever emotional energy that originally drove him to do what he did just evaporate when he returned home? Or did he find a more productive direction in which to channel his energies? What was life like for him, once he returned home?

And, most important question in my mind, did anyone in the next generation have any awareness of what went on before John Syme Hogue returned home and took up his humble position in the family's mining operations once again?

The only ones who can reflect adequately on these answers would be the ones who actually knew him. Which is why it was such a welcome, yet out-of-the-blue, moment when a descendant of John's brother got in touch.

With blogging and the ability to connect via comments, you never know who you will find yourself connecting with. After all these years since the story actually happened, hopefully, it will become a more welcome time to reflect and recollect what family remembered of those days long ago.   

A Connect-the-Dots Mindset

I'm not sure why anyone would have thought that this month—of all months in the year—would make an excellent opportunity for fund raising, but that is exactly what our local council of the Boy Scouts of America decided. And so, just the other day, I found myself accompanying my husband to an elegant breakfast hosted by the council and designated as a "Distinguished Citizen Award" event, partly because I appreciate the person being honored that morning and partly because my husband likes to do what he can to support our local Boy Scouts.

After chit-chatting with endless streams of people I don't really know, we settled into one of those conversations that just seem to grow and grow with more possibilities. It seemed like everything one of us said led to more detail and more desire to respond. If I were diagramming that discussion as a decision tree, the answer at each node would be, "Yes, keep talking." We never got to the end node—until we looked up and realized all the dishes on the tables had been cleared off and everyone had left the meeting room except the kitchen help.

What keeps some conversations going, while others falter before they've started?

I couldn't help notice, while we talked, that with every comment by the others in our group, there was this sense of connection. One idea sparked another. Details initiated observations. I found myself thinking of possibilities—what else could be done, who else would be able to help, why this would be a great opportunity.

This connecting-the-dots urge is not unfamiliar to me. It didn't take long to realize that is the incentive that draws me deeper and deeper into researching my family history. It seems everything and everyone has a connection—to someone, to some place, to some activity. After all, we are social beings. Most anything people have done has required some sort of connection with others—if not in the creation of it, at least in the consuming or sharing of it.

The "Distinguished Citizen" being honored in that morning's event happened to be a local politician who had served both at the city and state level. Perhaps that is what inspired me to notice that role of connections. Politicians are consummate networkers. They have to be—their very existence demands that skill.

While the morning's experience reminded me that the Connect-the-Dots mindset is not the exclusive domain of genealogists—nor is it the trademark solely of politicians—it also started me thinking about just what it is that draws us, as family history researchers, together.

I used to think it was because a genealogist is the only soul in the universe who can understand another genealogist.

Not so, I'm starting to think. Perhaps, rather than that narrow focus on sharing of notes on fathers-of-fathers, what our minds are really seeking are others out there who also thrive on observing the connections between entities in life—not just family members, but any connections.

Yesterday, I had lunch with my favorite local genealogist. As always, we love getting together to talk. We never seem to lack for things to talk about. I used to think it was because we both love genealogy, and we are loathe to spoil that fascination with the My-Eyes-Glaze-Over bummer we can experience when we make the mistake of discussing our latest thrilling discovery with non-fans.

Now, I'm not so sure. Is it really just because of genealogy? Or is it thanks to the tendency of our inquisitive minds to look for connections? Maybe its just because we've found that, in order to have an interesting conversation, our best bet is to find someone else who is handy at observing connections—any connections. Like a heat-seeking missile, our minds hone in on the ways things connect. Then, delight in the discovery. And ramp it up to the next node in the conversation decision tree.

I've heard a lot of family history researchers admit that they are the quiet type. That may be so. Once we can break through that brick wall of silence between strangers, though, even the shy ones can turn out to be interesting. It's those connections that draw them out.

Above: "Skating," lithograph by Canadian artist, Henry Sandham; courtesy United States Library of Congress via Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Put Yourself on the List, Too

No, not the shopping list. Not, at least, after my rant yesterday.

On the thankfulness list.

As Thanksgiving day rushes by us like the holiday blur it has become, I like to extend that season of thankfulness. It seems the best antidote to the turmoil ahead.

I've already mentioned some of the family members I'm personally thankful for. But there is one more group I'm thankful for: you. My readers. By being here and joining in the conversation by sharing your comments, you are part of what makes this blog what it is. And I'm glad you're here.

In one of the classes I taught last semester, we got into a discussion about how class is like a dialog. Yes, the teacher teaches and the students...well...hopefully, they get some benefit out of the process, but I don't suppose much thought has been given to the fact that a teacher is sometimes like a performer on stage. And we all know how much a performer is powered by audience response. It's a downright drag for a performer when nobody laughs at your jokes, cries at your losses, smiles when—at last!—the good guy seems to be able to win again.

Blogging is very much like that. While you and I are not face to face like we would be, gathered in a theater, we meet on a regular basis. Just like that stage performer seems to give just a little bit more when the audience is eating it up, we bloggers seem to write with more enthusiasm when we don't feel like our voice is just echoing around in an empty tin can.

In the past year, while I've wandered around the stories of a number of participants in my family's history, you've been there to cheer me on. I do part of what I do, thanks to part of what you do. Blogging is really a form of symbiosis.

I couldn't really let this Thankfulness weekend slip by without finding the time to acknowledge that. Since you may be a blogger, yourself, I imagine you have a few readers you are thankful for, as well. Aren't they the ones who really make the difference?

Above: "Love of Winter," oil on canvas by Columbus, Ohio, native, George Bellows, February 1914; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Like Romping in a Newly-Found Playground

So I hissed and moaned about something. Again. I was having trouble navigating the genealogical research waters in new territory: Detroit, Michigan. Not that I haven’t been thumbing through the files there before. It’s just that all our family lines have been there and soon passed along to greener pastures.

Maybe Detroit is turning out to be a stop along the Irish immigrant highway—that detour to the New World that requires the weary traveler to pass through Canada before arriving at the final destination in the land of the free. It turned out to be true for another branch of our Tully line—Michael and Margaret and children, who moved from Paris, Ontario, through Detroit to their final stop in Chicago. We traced them along that route before.

This time, though, I was looking for a different Michael Tully—son of John and Catherine. And, since I stumbled across them, I’m also searching for another Michael who might turn out to be family—part of the Edmund Flannery family, also from Paris, Ontario.

I couldn’t find what became of them after their arrival in Detroit. They were there for the 1870 census. And the 1880 census. And then—what? I couldn’t find any trace of them.

Normally, my first recourse in this dilemma would be to look them up on Find A Grave. Even though Detroit is a sizeable place, I could be fairly certain that they would only show up in a Catholic cemetery. But which one? Turns out there were more than one Catholic cemetery. And none produced the results I hoped for on Find A Grave.

My next stop would be to look up the cemetery listing on Find A Grave to get more information on each specific cemetery. After that, I’d usually Google each cemetery name to find its website address—then pull up the site and hope it included search capabilities so I could look up specific burials. The self-serve approach is always appreciated. But seldom available.

After my recent attempt at that same pattern when researching descendants on our Kelly line in Denver, though, I made one discovery: sometimes urban areas spread out to include so much of the county that burial locations have to be moved to a neighboring county. Thus, in Denver, the Catholic cemetery which contained the remains of our Kelly relatives was actually in a different county—which, unbeknownst to me at the time, gave me no search results, a frustrating experience.

Perhaps, I thought, the same thing was happening to me in Detroit. I certainly wasn’t getting any promising hits for all my searching.

The moral of this story—and I’ll say this up front so it won’t get lost in any more verbiage—is to never make assumptions that a search won’t work. Just do the search. Do it! All of it. All the possibilities. And then some.

Thankfully, that is not where the story ends. This is where you can see why I am so enthusiastic about the current crowdsourcing aspect of genealogical research. I love that we can share our dilemmas, tell others what stumps us. That’s why I’m a fan of social media—and even those wood-burning clunkers like the genealogy forums of the nineties. We each get the opportunity to share what we know—and at some point, get to reap what we sow with the exchange of information with someone who knows what we need to learn.

Blog readership fits right in the middle of that realm. Do you ever notice how blogs create community? Of the different blogs you read, you’ve surely noticed the continuing conversation that goes on, right below each post. That’s why I like to encourage researchers to share what they’ve found by starting their own blog: eventually (admittedly this takes longer for some people) a distant cousin will find his or her way to your post. If not a cousin, then some kind soul who has something helpful to contribute to the conversation.

That’s why I had that kid-in-candy-shop kind of happy-dance day yesterday: reader Kat passed around the Internet candy from Detroit, and I was bouncing off the walls, merrily looking up every Flannery and Tully connection I could find on this newfound website.

Yeah, if only I had looked farther, myself. If only I had stuck to my usual best intentions. But I didn’t. And I had good reason to—past experience and all. But since I didn’t, I would have missed a great search opportunity if Kat hadn’t mentioned that link to Mount Olivet and the Mount Elliott cemetery association.

I played around with what I could find. I took that site out for a spin. A joy ride. There were plenty of Flannerys listed. Even a few Tullys. And those married daughters I couldn’t find the other day? I zeroed in on the right Mary Lynch (out of several possibilities), and found both Anna Barkley and her husband George.

Don’t think I’ll be doing everything online, though. On my to-do list for today is placing a call to the Mount Olivet cemetery (where the records for Mount Elliott are held). I want to see if any of those Flannerys are buried in what is called a family plot. Hopefully, if the person on the other end of the line is helpful and not too busy, I’ll not only make sure I’ve isolated the correct family grouping, but find out who else is buried in that same plot. Sometimes, there are surprises. At the very least, I will be able to determine that I’ve gotten the Michael Flannery who belongs to Ann, and not someone else. That alone will get me tap dancing in the right direction.

Energized by Possibilities

I am bound to everyone on this planet by a trail of six people.

            ~American Playwright John Guare in Six Degrees of Separation

In a moment in which blog posts become influenced by the previous day’s harvest of reader comments, I saw the possibilities in what reader Intense Guy mentioned yesterday:

I think it would be cool if we (all your readers) could find a link, no matter how "loose" or "vague" to each other!

Mind you, I’m not out to propose that we all pull out our pedigrees and plat maps and compare notes to find connections. But we could. And we’d likely be amazed at the common ties we’d discover.

We already have made some connections here at A Family Tapestry. Taking a brief tour through all the comments in the last six months or so, I found a number of posts by readers, mentioning some way or another in which we connect.

First and foremost, I can’t forget the comment by blogger Susan Clark, entered after one post about my Tennessee roots. Predictably, this would catch Susan’s eye—after all, the title of her blog is Nolichucky Roots, her own catalog of ancestral connections in that same east Tennessee region where my grandfather grew up. After one post, Susan commented:

I have been so negligent about commenting, Jacqi, but I am adoring the Erwin connection. Today's entry sent chills down my spine. Your Nellie lived only a block and a half from my great-grandparents in Johnson City. Your names today were so familiar to me that I dug around a bit. Her husband's death record gives a street address that shows up at the corner of Southwest and Maple. My Williams great-grandparents lived in the next block, at 415 W. Maple. I have no words for joy this gives me.

After completing my series on the Bean family in the San Francisco Bay area—and subsequently further north in Santa Rosa—another reader added some comments which revealed a neighbor who actually remembered this family from childhood. The comments were added to the post three months after it was published, so you may have missed reading them, but all of them point to a re-connection. Here’s one of the comments:

I believe I know this neighborhood. I think the young woman on the right is Marilyn Bean. If that's her mother, Mrs. Lincoln, on the left, she is looking very young to me, but I knew her only as a very elderly woman. She babysat me when I was 4 - 5 years old. She had a large stuffed owl in her den, with big, staring eyes, guaranteed not to let a little kid sleep.

In finding my posts about the Stevens family military travels, someone stopped by to compare notes with a couple comments like this one:

I commented on the USNS Gen. Alexander M. Patch and our voyage on it from Bremerhaven to New York in 1952 when I was 15 months old. The stateside home of record listed for us on the passenger list was Greenville, South Carolina, which had become my mother's home city in 1942 when she was 16. My parents married in Greenville in July of 1949 and went to Germany the following month. I was born in Frankfurt in 1951. So, there is another connection we share.

One of my most delightful discoveries was not through a comment to a post, but in subsequent emails with another blogger—Lisa, known online as “Smallest Leaf,” whose blogs include Small-Leaved Shamrock and 100 Years in America. Lisa’s grandparents, as it turned out, lived in the same town in New York in which I grew up. Talk about close connections of the non-related kind!

This all reminds me of the proverbial “Six Degrees of Separation”—the speculation that any two individuals may likely be connected by, at the most, five other people. Remember that sociology class I mentioned in yesterday’s post? It was thanks to that class that I first became aware of the Stanley Milgram experiment, attempting to get a package from a randomly-selected person in a Midwest city to a target individual in Boston, Massachusetts, via only people that the sender knew personally.

While psychologist Stanley Milgram was not the one to coin the descriptive tag “Six Degrees of Separation” that was later given to the “small world” phenomenon, the concept has been mused over, written about, mathematically toyed with and academically pontificated over since at least 1929. As it turns out, many randomly-selected strangers may be connected by as little as three links.

Given the much more limited pool of ethnically-connected ancestors you or I might have in common, it is actually no surprise that we would find some sort of connection between us genealogically, either.

Of course, I’m still awaiting the glorious day when someone emails to inform me that he or she is my long-lost twenty-seventh cousin. Until that happens, however, connections like these from readers really make my day.

Energized by Connections

One of my college professors in sociology assigned, for one of his textbooks, a paperback volume entitled, predictably, The Social Animal.

I’m not sure I buy into the “animal” part, but I have to say, when it comes to “social,” there are a lot of people who will step up and admit, “That’s me.”

I’m not one of them. Give me a book and a cozy corner—preferably with a fireplace, and on a rainy day—and I’d be content just to while away the hours in solitude. The quiet of seclusion makes for better concentration.

Yet a funny thing has happened along the way in spending untold hours working in front of a computer screen: I actually find myself liking the chance to escape the office cubicle and share a cup of coffee and a meandering conversation with someone else.

There is something energizing about connecting with real people. I find myself coming away from face to face conversations, full of ideas for new projects, or solutions for old problems.

Who would have thought a cup of coffee and a couple of hours with a friend could do something like that?

I’ve heard someone assert that we become the sum of the people we surround ourselves with. Even a quintessential loner like I am can agree to that. I find myself gravitating toward the positive, the creative, the inspirational, the accomplished in human form in those moments when I can connect with others.

Yet, after discussing the benefits, yesterday, of drawing our energy from others around us, in retrospect, I realize that energy can be transmitted even when people don’t have the opportunity to meet face to face. Ask all those teenagers on the telephone if they feel connected with friends without seeing them face to face. Of course it’s possible.

After reading the comments to yesterday’s post, I realized we do have another energizing avenue available to us as genealogy researchers, even if we aren’t able to connect through activities like genealogical society meetings, as reader Wendy had mentioned. With all the social media outlets we have available at our fingertips, we have multiple ways to gain that energy of connecting. While you may not “tweet,” nor check your Facebook, nor decorate your Pinterest page, you and I—and everyone else here—are connecting every time we share the conversation via comments online. Intense Guy is right: participating in the crowdsourcing efforts of something like finding a way to send an orphan photo “home,” as Far Side does, is a way to connect. Sharing resources on genealogy blogs—as many of you have done here—is a way we connect.

The connections we make online are not exactly tangible, but they are viable relationships nonetheless. They bring people together with the same interests and goals—people who most likely would never have met, otherwise. When each of us adds our own touch to what the other has said, or found, or shown in a comment, we add that burst of energy that keeps on drawing us back for more.

Two Lessons I Learned From the Fax Machine

Tonight, once again, those who love their genealogy and their social media will be gathering online for a “genchat.” Tonight’s topic will be “Putting Flesh on the Bones: Telling the Stories.”

Despite the fact that that topic is my very heartbeat, this is not why I bring up genchat for today’s post. I actually don’t want to take a look at the potential content of the upcoming event as much as I want to examine something inherent in the very process of “chatting” by social media.

Specifically, I want to examine what makes the process of using social media work.

Now, I know this will seem very rudimentary to you when I say this, but right now, I am overwhelmed with the thought that the utility of any given social medium is utterly dependent upon the number of people that goes into making that medium social.

In other words, if you don’t have multiples of individuals willing to participate in utilizing the utility, the utility becomes useless. It may take only two to tango, but in order to sashay with social, your circle needs a number of a larger magnitude.

The problem is some trends seem to keep themselves cloaked in invisibility, which perpetrates the illusion that “nobody is doing it.” And when it comes to anything employing social media, that is not the image you want to project.

Here’s what I learned from the history of the fax machine, and what it taught me about getting people involved in the work of developing “the next thing”—whatever it may be.

Flying Under the Radar

If you are planning an event that you don’t want to have publicized, it may be all well and good to fly beneath the radar. But if you want others to join in on something that you find to be beneficial, you are faced with a dilemma. If others don’t participate with you, you may not, by yourself, be able to achieve the goals you had hoped to realize for the event.

Sometimes, that has worked to people’s advantage. Remember the Stealth Bomber? The American strategic bomber was designed to achieve undetected penetration of sophisticated anti-aircraft defenses. It flew under the radar.

Same thing with the fax machine. I first learned about that unexpected aspect of the fax machine when I read Chuck Colson’s book, The Body. Mr. Colson spent a good amount of time describing what went into the back story leading up to the disintegration of the “Iron Curtain.” Apparently, although the censorship strictures within the eastern European countries were well established, they were set up on the assumptions of communication methods already in place. When fax machines became widespread in those countries, they evidently provided people with a way to bypass the usual control points and communicate more freely, user to user. We’ve seen the same scenario repeat itself more recently in countries of the Middle East via Twitter, beginning with the phenomenon dubbed The Arab Spring.

To bypass any control point or headquarters and link, node to node, in a network of like-minded people, any technology that facilitates that sort of connection will grant participants the ability—at least for the moment—to fly under the radar.

There is, however, one crucial secondary requirement.

You Can’t Have Just One

This was the predicament that handy inventors—like those who developed the modern fax machine—realized about their situation. While the technology of the time allowed the developers of the fax machine to come up with an amazing capability, it would remain amazing only in theory until one vital thing happened: a second party installed a fax machine.

Think about it: suppose you were one of the early adopters who jumped right in and shelled out kazillions of dollars for a prototype of this new invention, so you could fax a document whenever you wished.

Who would you fax it to? Remember, you are one of the very few in the world already in possession of this technology. Most likely, anyone you’d want to fax to had not yet even heard of the thing.

The same predicament faced the early adopters of email. And cell phones. And any other gadget that enables two-way connections. Whether you want to fly under the radar, or shout your message from the electronic rooftops, however you do it, you can’t have just one. You need a sender. And a receiver.

How This Applies to Us

Ever think about how doing genealogy sometimes requires more than just one? Granted, genealogy is a solitary pursuit on many levels. We sequester ourselves in libraries and trudge through the grunt work…alone. We sit at our computers and scroll through lists of data…alone.

But, oh, how our eyes light up when we get an unexpected email from a cousin we never knew we had! Or when we receive a forum response giving us just the clue we needed to break through a brick wall. We’ve learned to go to conferences and join local genealogical societies because we realize that sometimes, it’s just better to do this genealogy stuff with others. We are, after all, social beings.

There are so many new tools added to the communications arsenal that are ready to exploit for our research purposes. Some of them we use regularly for everyday purposes, never thinking how they can be adapted to assist us in our genealogical quests. Other tools, however, could increase our effectiveness, once we learn to put them to good use.

But many of those tools, just like the fax machine, are only beneficial to us if more than one person is using them.

Why do you think I’ve posted articles urging people to consider using Twitter, Google Plus, Facebook, Pinterest, and other social media outlets? If we use them, but don’t have anyone to communicate with, it’s no better than hollering into a tin can when the string on the other end is connected to…nothing.

So, what did I learn from the fax machine? I learned that if I want to use one, I need to go out and become a fax machine evangelist. I need to convince others to start using a fax machine, too. If I want to become a fax machine sender, I need to find others—many others—who will be willing to become fax machine receivers.

The beauty of that dilemma, of course, is that once others become willing to be that receiver, they too can also become senders.

And, in the end, we can all start talking with each other. And connecting what we know with the ones who want to share it.

Like on genchat. Tonight.

Debriefing After That Drink From the New Media Fire Hose

Alright, I admit: that was a lot of material to cover in a week’s time. I hope I didn’t blow you away. (Perhaps it was a good thing we had that unexpected hiatus in the middle, with my Internet server going down twice!)

When it comes to talking about Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus, Pinterest and all the rest of the social media scene, I realize each of those topics deserves a week of its own. There are so many possibilities out there! And so many ways to connect with like-minded others checking out the same genealogical research paths we are pursuing.

Just see each of these social media outlets as magnets, drawing in fellow researchers and distant cousins.

After writing all those posts, I found there was a corollary to reading all that material: the overwhelming sense of drowning in all the possibilities.

If that was how the series left you feeling, my profuse apologies—and an offer to amend that viewpoint. Look at it not as a To Do list, but an inventory of all the tools on the genealogy factory shelf.

And may I add that, as with any set of tools, it is important to adopt a plan with which to manage the use of those tools. You will find that some of those tools have batteries that need to be recharged periodically. Other tools require upkeep or replacement—like drill bits changed out on the drill, or sandpaper replaced for the sander. And no tool does its best if left on, twenty four hours a day, whether it’s being used or not.

New media tools are the same way: they work better if used, based on a concise plan.

If you’ve ever gotten sucked up into frittering away an afternoon on Pinterest, you’ll quickly see my point. You’ll need an escape plan to quickly exit each medium, once you’ve used it for the purpose you’ve planned. Use. Clean. Put away.

Not that I’m wanting to pick on Pinterest. Facebook can be as great an offender, when it comes to The Great Time Suck.

With all the time required to do genealogy research—and face it, genealogical research is never done!—a time management plan for social media use is a must.

For a social media outlet like Twitter, there are a host of tools tailor-made for that medium alone. Like HootSuite, for instance. This—and other such devices—allow the busy multi-tasker to plan posts in advance, merrily calendaring “tweets” across the time zones so no Twitter follower goes through a day uninterrupted by his virtual wisdom.

Somehow, in my mind, that initial sensation of “wow” rapidly fades to the realization that, if we all used such methods to computerize our “connections,” we’d be left with nothing more than one machine talking to another machine. A universe of pre-scheduled tweets seems hardly the way for someone to join in the conversation

If it’s all about relationships—and, frankly, that’s the way some of these social media represent it—we can’t do that without actually connecting. However, in what those computer geek types like to call “asynchronous,” social media let us carry on conversations with people as far-flung as Australia and New England. We don’t have to talk at the same time—just keep the volley up when we can squeeze in a moment to respond.

So, how do you manage that new flood of information—or get it started, if no one’s talking to you yet? Whatever you do, you need to go into social media with a firm idea of what you want to get out of it.

·        Do you want to spread the word about your research on your Kelly family from the Lakes of Killarney? Or your descent from Palatine immigrants to Pennsylvania?

·        Do you want to connect with board members from other local genealogical societies?

·        Do you dream of writing a book on your family history and want to share observations and recommendations with others in the same process?

·        Do you want an additional outlet to share information on your blog posts?

·        Do you want to explore newer approaches to genealogy research, including online resources?

These are all ideas on how you can focus on your goals while branching out in these many and varied social media tools. Keeping a firm grasp on your “media plan” will help you avoid wasting time and effort as you navigate the jungles of these new resources.

If you are particularly plagued with the “Oooh, shiny” syndrome, you may even want to write up and post your own Social Media Constitution where you can refer to it on a regular basis. Whatever helps hone your focus to help you achieve your online goals.

After all, no matter how powerful these social media tools may be, they will be of no use to you if you don’t pursue the skills required to become adept at their employment.

Don’t play any blame game with yourself—“I shoulda done that”—when it comes to exploring the wild world of social media. There’s no benefit in beating yourself up over it.

The bottom line to all this is: if you can achieve your family history research goals through one or more of the new media options, and do it within a well-defined, reasonably-contained regular segment of time, then by all means, have at it. Get scheduled, get in, get focused, get working, and get out! Do it for brief periods of time. Set a timer, if you must. Review your results, your connections, your discoveries on a regular basis to re-evaluate your participation.

Above all, don’t let this all wash over you like a flood. If it’s overwhelming, it isn’t helpful.

On the other hand, if you can take it in small doses—and those doses prove beneficial—then by all means, continue to engage in what allows you to successfully meet your research or relationship goals.

Remember, each of these social media outlets are tools. Just tools.

Don’t let those hammers get you down. Don’t let that saw make you feel guilty. And don’t let your social media tools bum you out, either.

Just put them to work.

Pinning Genealogy

Imagine a gigantic bulletin board, filled only with scraps of ideas about how to approach the topic of genealogy.

Now, imagine that bulletin board transformed from an analog cork board to a digital version on your computer.

Can you say Pinterest?

I’ve spent a week’s posts on questions prompting you to dive into the social media world. For some of those posts, I was right there alongside you, swimming in those social media waters. I’ve jumped in, feet first, when it came to Twitter. Same with Facebook. Not so much when it comes to Google Plus. And you can call my Pinterest virtual property a veritable desert island.

Yes, sometimes we can overextend ourselves—or lose the focus required to drive a successful foray into a specific form of social media.

While I don’t necessarily have what it takes to produce a vibrant set of Pinterest boards—hey, I’ve never been a visually oriented person, what can I say?!—let’s take a look at what other genealogy enthusiasts have wrought with this easy-to-use online platform.

Just signing on to Pinterest and doing a search on the term “Genealogy” gives you an idea of the extent of adherents to family history in the Pinterest community. Seems like there is an endless stream of genealogy boards to visit!

Nestled in amongst all those unfamiliar names of fellow genealogy enthusiasts are some you’ll recognize. Some boards are representative of organizations, like the “Genealogy for Allen County” board. Some are readily recognizable, such as the Pinterest account for the digital magazine, The In-Depth Genealogist, and some lesser-known, like the board for Grant Davis’ blog, The Stephen Sherwood Letters. Author Gina Philibert-Ortega has an account, as does blogger Valerie Elkins.

You can find Pinterest accounts for traditional certified genealogists like Michael Hait. Or technology-geared producers like Carolyn Pointer and Kenneth Marks. Some people create Pinterest accounts strictly for their genealogical pursuits, like the business boards of Stephanie Pitcher Fishman—under the title Corn and Cotton—then set aside a separate account for a well-rounded gamut of personal interests under their own name. Jen Baldwin and Terri O’Connell of The In-Depth Genealogist preferred to take that route, as did one of my favorite bloggers, Michelle Taggart, who set aside just one of her Pinterest boards for A Southern Sleuth.

If you are tempted to join such stellar company and begin your own Pinterest adventure—or at least brush up your digital property on their site—there are plenty of online resources to help coach you through the start-up process. One straightforward guide comes, courtesy of the online version of the magazine, Real Simple. Another easy-to-follow demonstration can be found at wikiHow.

While I am not enamored with the search capabilities of Pinterest, it is possible to seek out specific topics on Pins, Boards, and Pinners via their search bar on the top left of each screen. I would love to discover whether any of the graphics, photos, and artwork I’ve found and shared on A Family Tapestry inspired anyone enough to click the “Pin It” button and add it to one of their boards. Other than happening to notice the data as it blips across my blog’s “dashboard” at any random moment, I’ve not yet discovered how to uncover that information via search.

So why, you might ask—considering the huge swaths of unmanageable data and graphics—would a genealogist and a blogger consider getting intertwined in an admittedly addictive website?

The best answer that comes to my mind is from a series of blog posts I found over a year ago. Archivist and writer Melissa Mannon explored how to benefit from a multitude of social media outlets, among them Pinterest. Basically, she found the key to incorporating Pinterest to be the visual outlook it provided, and then the transference of that visual mindset across multiple media. She explored using Pinterest for libraries, museums, and other cultural repositories.

The one show-stopping concept Melissa mentioned, though, came in the wake of her experiments with Pinterest, Twitter, and other social networks. She described how, in seeking to open up dialog among her professional peers, she followed up a post in her own blog with a comment on a discussion group in LinkedIn. In that one comment she wrote, she included a link back to her blog post on that same topic of Pinterest. The result in integrating these varied social approaches? The hits for that one specific post jumped to over one thousand for the day.

I don’t know about you, but the concept of increasing one’s page views to over one thousand in one day speaks volumes to me. While it tempts me to pin the golden halo on one avenue—the medium of Pinterest—I know better than to see it as the result of one sure-fire solution.

I see it more as the result of integrating the outreach potential of many different venues—Pinterest, Google Plus, Twitter, Facebook, and other resources we’ve not even discussed here in this series. No matter what your goal—to get the word out about your blog or to attract attention to your research for a specific surname—standing on one street corner with a megaphone will certainly be loud and noisy, but it won’t necessarily get the word out in any way that counts. Blending the use of many well-selected resources to amplify your message is the more likely approach to gain the success you wish for your family history project.


Update, Tuesday, July 9: A timely addition to the collection of Pinterest inspirational stories comes in the form of a blog post today, by Danielle of My Family Historian. I think you'll agree that she adds another helpful perspective to the conversation. Check out her take on Pinterest here.

Twitter and Genealogy: Ready to Take Off?

Ten…

Nine…

Eight…

Seven…

Genchat!

If you aren’t quite sure what I’m referring to, Genchat is the online genealogy conversation that happens every second and fourth Friday on Twitter.

That “fourth Friday” would be today.

If you live on the east coast, it happens at ten o’clock at night. For those in the Central time zone, the hour is nine. Denizens of the Mountain time zone—along with Genchat co-host Jen Baldwin—gather at eight p.m. And those of us far away in the beautiful lands of the Pacific coast, well, we join in at a more laid-back seven o’clock.

The online chats each have an assigned topic to cover—you can view the schedule for upcoming plans here—but other than that, are not rigidly formal in any way.

In fact, if you plan on participating for the first time, grab your hat, sit down and hold on! This fast-paced hour garners all sorts of great tips and ideas from your peers in genealogical research.

Since its inception on January 25 this year, Genchat has been co-hosted by the team at The In-Depth Genealogist and Conference Keeper. While mostly an event you can enjoy from the comfort of your own home, Genchat has even ventured out to coordinate a live chat from the National Genealogical Society convention last May in Las Vegas.

No matter where you are, I hope you set aside an hour to participate in—or at least sneak a peek at—tonight’s Genchat.

How to become part of the action?

First, be sure to sign up for your own Twitter account, if you haven’t already done so.

Next, if you’d first like to get an idea of what past Genchats were like, you can read through some archived conversations at Storify.

Keep in mind that, on Twitter, the way to aggregate posts on the same topic is to precede the search term with a specific symbol—what you may have previously thought of as the “pound sign” or “number sign” in Twitter lingo is dubbed a “hashtag.” Same symbol (#), different name. You’ll notice that every time someone enters a “tweet” in the Twitter stream for this event, it is labeled as #genchat. That way, in Twitter’s search bar, you can enter that exact string—“#genchat”—and bring up any past posts relevant to that discussion.

If you participate in tonight’s #genchat, you can do so via Twitter—but if you use that means of joining in the fun, for every tweet you write, you’ll have to remember to end it with the label, #genchat, so that it will be included in the conversation’s history.

Let me tell you a secret: there is an easier way.

I highly recommend that, before you participate in tonight’s #genchat, you first sign up for a special utility called TweetChat. This is a handy service that automatically enters that #genchat label, every time you add your comment to the conversation tonight, so you won’t have to go through the tedium of typing it all out, yourself.

Believe me, you will thank them! This conversation moves fast.

Signing up for TweetChat is easy, fast, and free. All you need to do is go to their website, follow their streamlined 1-2-3 steps, enter the #genchat hashtag in the box, and you’re in! If you already have a Twitter account, you can probably slam dunk that TweetChat signup in minutes.

Once that is done, at seven (if you are in the Pacific time zone) or eight (if you are on Mountain time) or nine (if yours is the Central time zone) or ten (for Eastern time)—or, hey, if you are one of those who have joined in from England or Australia or anywhere in between—be sure to join in tonight’s conversation on Cemetery Projects.

You’ll be amazed how fast an hour can fly by!  

Auld Lang Syne Redux

I’ve never been one to put much stock in the New Year’s Day holiday. For one thing, it seems everyone spends all their celebratory energy on the preceding night’s festivities, making the holiday designation for January first seem like such an afterthought. Then—and this will ring true for fellow family historians—if one’s family doesn’t hold the tradition, it’s unlikely to be passed down through the generations. Needless to say, since my family was never big on New Year’s Day—other than my musician dad, who occasionally used the holiday to catch up on sleep after playing a gig the night before—I don’t have that tradition, either.

Last New Year’s Day, I quoted an old passage from Louisa May Alcott’s Rose In Bloom which painted a picture of a very different New Year’s Day tradition. It took me all the way through my own childhood and half way through my daughter’s before I discovered that book. But finding the New Year’s Day passage was worth the wait. It opened my eyes to a world where renewing old acquaintances was not something you did in dimly lit corners at the stroke of midnight, but a lively pursuit engaged in during the many sunshine-embraced hours of the following day.

Last year, my Auld Lang Syne roundup featured my favorite fellow bloggers from 2011. I decided to reserve that reminiscing for yesterday’s post, this year. Instead, today, I’d like to spend time expressing my thanks to all of you—A Family Tapestry readers for 2012 who have taken the time to stop by and even leave a comment or two.

The point at which I made that decision was just a little over a week ago, when I ran across one particular comment that just made me smile.

Diana in 1954

After having posted a mystery photo of an unidentified little girl in a winter coat and muff, I noticed Wendy from Jollett etc. remarked,

"A muff! Of course, this picture was saved. You can't throw away a picture of a little girl with a muff - it's a rule."

Of course. How could I not have known that?!

That was one of those moments when I realized how grateful I am for those of you who stop by and leave a comment. While I will probably never meet you in real life, you are friends. Your words make a difference.

How often it is that we bloggers slip into that blue funk where we think nobody really reads what we have to say. We feel like we are shouting into a tin can (that’s how I used to feel in my radio days, even though I knew better at a “Top Forty” formatted station) and nobody is there to listen.

You and I know better. If nothing else, we listen to each other. I think it’s fairly safe to say others are listening in, too. And—good for us family historians who would want it that way, anyhow—those “out there” folks will get to keep listening in on our posts, long after we’ve pushed the “publish” button and moved on to other projects. We are laying down a legacy of sorts—one to which Google™ will someday direct other researchers interested in those very same surname, family, and community search terms.

When we comment on each other’s writing, we are actually joining in one gigantic, worldwide conversation. We get to talk to people we’d never have the opportunity to join for morning coffee (well, with certain exceptions!). We get to become a part of each other’s research and pet projects. We get to exchange ideas. Give feedback. Be an encouragement.

So, for all of you who have graced this blog with your presence through your comments, you have my heartfelt gratitude. I have certainly enjoyed getting to know you—and following your own projects. Consider this my verbal Friendship Bouquet. Thank you to:

Michelle Taggart of A Southern Sleuth

Julie Cahill Tarr of GenBlog

Gini Webb of Ginisology
Joan of Roots’n’Leaves

Lisa of 100 Years in America

Shelley Bishop of A Sense of Family

"Irish Eyes Jennifer" of On a Flesh and Bone Foundation: An Irish History
Linda Gartz of Family Archaeologist

Susan Clark of Nolichucky Roots
Jenny Jones of Raking Through the Leaves
Heather Rojo of Nutfield Genealogy

Patrick Jones of Frequent Traveler Ancestry

Kathy Pooler of Memoir Writer's Journey
Randy Seaver of Genea-Musings
Grant Davis of The Stephen Sherwood Letters

Claudia of Found at an Auction and Claudia’s Genealogy Blog

Mariann Regan of Into the Briar Patch

Jana Last of Jana’s Genealogy and Family History Blog

Linda Huesca Tully of Many Branches, One Tree

Smadar Belkind Gerson of Past-Present-Future

Karin Hadden of The Art of Genealogy

Jessica (“not a bird watcher”) of The Brick Wall Climber

Nuccia of Growing Up in an Italian Family

Lisa Wallen Logsdon of Old Stones Undeciphered
Leah Allen of Leah’s Family Tree

Pam Garrett of Family Stories

Debi Austen of Who Knew?

Jennifer Darling of The Dead Bell

Andrea Kelleher of How Did I Get Here? My Amazing Genealogy Journey

Cathy von Hassel-Davies of Digging Up Your Roots

Celia Lewis of Twigs and Trees

Ellie of Ellie’s Ancestors

Linda of Reaching the Heartwood

Fi of Dance Skeletons
Bettyann Schmidt of Rhine Girl

Denise Spurlock of Denise’s Life in the Past Lane

Eowyn Langholf of Turning Hearts Genealogy

DuSyl of DuSyl Family Lore & History

Nicola Carpenter of Murderous Monday
Kathy Hart of Kathy's Search 
Karen Glass of Family History With a "Looking" Glass
Brenda Clifford of Family Heritage Remnants of Time
Colleen Greene of Colleen & Jeff's Roots
Sharn White of Family History 4 U
"ljhlaura" of Branch and Leaf...a Family History Blog
Jim of Hidden Genealogy Nuggets
Susan of The Family Snoop
Sally Knudsen of SallySearches
Kathy Reed of Jones Family Matters
Mickishell of We Cannot Know Them All
And my real-life coffee buddy, Sheri Fenley of The Educated Genealogist

For those of you who prefer to do your blog hopping incognito, thank you also to:

Far Side of Fifty

Intense Guy

The Path Traveled

Genealogy Lady

Hungarian Family Record

Historian
Diggeo
Hummer
The Archivist
Apple

Plus my kind-hearted and supportive near relatives and those distant cousins I've met along the way...not to mention those multiple mystery people known to us only as “Unknown.”

And Wendy, of course, who got me thinking about this whole idea in the first place.

May you all enjoy a blessed, productive, insightful, successful year in 2013. And may we all continue to share in each others joys and victories—and lift each other up in those doubtful moments in between the high points.

Adding Another Voice to the Community

This past weekend, I did quite a bit of thinking. Perhaps sparked by revisiting the old genealogical research standby—Cyndi’s List—on Thursday, and following that by stepping out of cyberspace into reality on Saturday to help with my local genealogy society’s training event, I’m seeking ways to get all of us family history researchers talking to each other more.

I don’t know if it was coincidental or not, but during that same span of time, announcements about an upcoming conference have been popping up online like daffodils in springtime. RootsTech 2013 won’t exactly be here until, well, 2013, but the buzz started the other day when I noticed the first bloom via a Facebook entry by DearMyrtle.

Am honored by 2013 RootsTech invitation to serve as an Official Blogger. No blogger button, banner or logos yet, I assume they will follow shortly.

Soon after, a little bird (@nancyshively) tweeted

any of my #genealogy friends going to #RootsTech 2013?

And soon followed up with a blog post of her own at Gathering Stories.

By then, my blog reader was literally carpeted with a blooming display of RootsTech 2013 titles. Randy Seaver at Genea-Musings posted his announcement about the opening of registration—and that he has been designated an official blogger—and Julie Tarr at GenBlog followed suit (plus added a post about how you can save $90 on registration costs).

So, naturally, I headed over to the RootsTech site to see what all the buzz was about. There, nestled in among the class descriptions for nearly two hundred fifty sessions in next spring's three day conference, I spied a workshop on how to set up a genealogy blog.

Precisely my cup of tea.

I think each of us who is researching our family origins and heritage should be serious about communicating our findings so others may benefit—and collaborate. Why not? If family is a social construct, then being sociable about it seems one of its inherent properties. It’s all about people. So why not share?

The only flaw I see in that proposition, though, is what I’ve been mulling over in the posts I mentioned above. If each of us is standing alone with our bullhorn to our mouth, shouting out our discoveries—and yet, no one is listening—what good does it do us? We need to refine whatever mechanisms are already at our disposal to come together, to discuss, to collaborate on what we’ve found. The Internet, after all, is the great facilitator for the Continuing Conversation.

We already have the means to do this. I’ve mentioned quite a while back about the social aspects of Ancestry.com. Thomas MacEntee has provided a mechanism to lead us to the water of fresh genealogy blogs—through his GeneaBloggers search capabilities—but we need to be the ones to take that drink, take the initiative and connect with the blogs we find through his site.

And I don’t mean “connect” as in “read that blog.” We need to make our presence known. Leave a comment. Say hello. Say, “I’m researching those same surnames.” Or, “thanks for sharing that resource; nice post.” Or something.

There’s nothing more lonely than pouring one’s heart out on paper, post after post, and never hearing anything back from the blogiverse—not even an echo. “Is there anyone out there?” we wonder.

I’ll never forget the moment the community-building light bulb went off in my own mind. We all have “Ah ha!” moments, and this one was mine. I had been plying the photography/history blogger known online as “Far Side of Fifty” with questions about certain unidentified cabinet cards I’d recently received—I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, but I had to do something with them—and she offered to send over one of her own blog’s readers who had some valuable insight into such identity issues. It turns out that reader was another blogger, known as Intense Guy. (She prefers to call him “Iggy,” so I’ve followed her lead there.)

Iggy showed up on my blog one day and left a comment. For what it was worth, it was helpful. I thought that would be the end of it. But, surprise, there was a comment on my next post, too. Different subject, but he had a comment for that one, too. And the next day? Same thing.

I wasn’t shouting vainly at an empty blogiverse anymore. I had a listener.

That taught me something. It showed me that I can do this, too. I can go out and be someone’s listener, too. I can encourage someone else in their burden of sharing their research online where it can become useful to others. By doing this, I can become a voice that encourages others when they shine—perhaps even shape their progress or encourage them in their focus.

This new mission is a type of community-building. When I find someone whose posts, style, or goals match my own—a blogger after my own heart—I can be there to serve as their cheerleader while they get their game up and running in their own spring training camp.

I know I wouldn’t have been able to keep at it—this communicating online about my search through blogging—if it weren’t for the encouragement of others who are in the same arena.

It’s just a little thought about passing things along.

After all, if RootsTech 2013 sees the launch of several more newly-minted family history bloggers, they’re all going to need some encouragement, too.

And beyond encouragement, wouldn’t it be energizing to enable each other to achieve even more in our mutual endeavors?

Above right: Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Luncheon of the Boating Party (Le Déjeuner des canotiers) 1881; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Revisiting a Longstanding Resource

As much as we in the genealogy community prefer to see ourselves as lone researchers on a trailblazing quest to locate heretofore undiscovered ancestors, with the advent of the Internet—and again, as the world of social media collides with our ivory tower self-images—we have really morphed into participants in one giant ongoing genealogy conversation.

There are so many tools to help us accomplish this feat. We’ve connected with genealogy bloggers—two thousand eight hundred of them and counting, according to Thomas MacEntee of GeneaBloggers—through RSS feeds, Blogspot’s Google Friend Connect, and email subscription services. We’ve Tweeted each other about #genealogy and #familyhistory on Twitter. We’ve found each other’s Facebook pages—especially for online interest groups like Chicago Genealogy or actual brick-and-mortar organizations like the Marion County Arkansas Heritage Society.

We used to congregate in places like Rootsweb and GenForum. But as we journey far past our humble online origins, we tend to forget—or discard—those original forums where we made our first digital genealogy connections (as Deb Ruth mentioned just yesterday in her own blog). As services like GeoCities exploded and people learned how to develop those first rudimentary websites to share their research results, genealogy resources multiplied.

In fact, back in those early days, the burgeoning online growth of genealogy sites was creating a problem of its own: how to find things in that maze of research information.

One woman, planning to speak at her local Genealogy Society meeting about some helpful links she had found, brought a one-page handout to share with her group’s members. Everyone raved about the list, and others asked her to share it. Eventually, the easiest way for her to answer the many requests for “more!” was to put the list online.

That was in 1996.

The list has mushroomed since then, and it's still online. We know it as Cyndi’s List.

I’ve benefited from the links I’ve found on Cyndi’s List over and over again. It’s a resource I’ve known about for years.

I've even blogged about it.

And yet, as more and more resources for genealogy research come online each passing year, the new and shiny seems to push these tried-and-true resources away from the forefront of our attention.

I was reminded of that just this week. I was stymied by a research problem and, putting my mind in neutral rather than continuing to spin my wheels, I switched over to Google and just entered the term, “genealogy blogs.”

I’m not quite sure what I expected. Of course, I knew I’d see the standard entries such as GeneaBloggers. I was hoping I’d see some titles I’d not yet stumbled upon, too.

I totally didn’t expect to see the entry for Cyndi’s List.

Surprise, surprise, the old faithful Big Box of Lists now has a category called Blogs for Genealogy. And like any enormous all-inclusive list, this website invites visitors to submit any links that aren’t already on their list.

Operating on that age-old advice—“You have a mouth; now use it”—that’s exactly what I did.

Not that I’m anyone special. Any genealogy blogger can avail himself or herself of that same opportunity. Which I hope many will. The more ways we can utilize to find each other, the better for all of us.

The happily-ever-after part of the story is that, within twenty four hours, Cyndi’s List accepted my entry, and I am now a proud part of the listing for genealogy blogs on her website. My shining fifteen minutes of fame there came yesterday with a mention on the top of her daily “What’s New” listing. And like the faithful returns from any good investment, from this time forward, I know it will be one more way to help connect those proverbial haystack-searchers with the missing needle they are seeking.

Completing One Lap Around the Sun

Exactly one year ago today, most Americans were celebrating that quaint hundred-year-old tradition known as Mother’s Day. I have to admit, I was one of those included in the ritual, thanks to the doting members of my immediate family.

There was another significance for me concerning that Mother’s Day last year: it was the launch of A Family Tapestry.

Yes, for three hundred and sixty six days now—thanks to a startup during Leap Year—I’ve actually had something to say about blending history and genealogy. Not bad for someone who doesn’t talk much.

It’s been the process—the journey—that has fascinated me the most.

Think about it: do you know how hard it is to be there, day in and day out, for three hundred sixty six posts? I know: some of you handle that like a pro—mainly because you are a pro. This, for me, is a labor of love. And a process of discipline.

I’m reminded of what I thought, on the far side of that first year, about that discipline. At that point, I considered myself to be blogging-in my Gladwell Ten Thousand Hours. Taking my cue from Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers book, I explored the give and take of participating in the process. Building community. Entering into The Conversation.

While in the overall scheme of things, my posts may be an infinitesimally small blot in the blogging universe—let alone the publishing world—each day became a vehicle that helped connect me to new thoughts, new techniques. And above all, new people. It’s become a way to thrive. It’s been, to me, e-mind-candy.

A long time ago, in another professional life, I heard a conference speaker draw his presentation from the inspiration of the word, “ecology.” He didn’t use that term the way most people are accustomed to handling it. He actually employed it in a larger sense of “relationships of organisms to one another”—in the case studies presented, it became clear that he was referring specifically to the “study of the interaction of people and their environment” in a much different way. His treatment of the word “ecology” came from his professional perspective in gerontology. He was focusing on the “environment” of such relationship-sterile settings as convalescent hospitals and nursing homes, looking to see how changes in that “ecology” could change the health outlook for his patients. His point was well taken: not all living environments are green. But they still all need to be conserved.

This type of thinking has stayed with me over the years. We become each other’s environment. We are shaped by our tools. Though ever so softly and imperceptibly, we are inexorably intertwined with the people around us—even those with whom we disagree. They—friend or foe—make us who we become by our responses to them. The tools we use only serve to accelerate or discourage that process.

Whether a person realizes this interdependence or not, it is there.

Actually, I find any word rooted in “dependence” to be an inept choice for terms that have to do with the give-and-take of interpersonal relationships. Perhaps inter-relationship would be more effective. It’s not the degree of dependence that needs to be measured, but the aspect of reciprocal influence that needs to be acknowledged.

So I begin to ask: What are the interlinking systems that flow around my personal genealogy habitat? I certainly didn’t get to where I am today—in learning, in research, in writing—without others who reached out and put their touch of influence on me. I know my year-long journey through this blogging experience has positive outcomes owing to those of you who have contributed to shaping that day-to-day path. For those of you who have been an encouragement—through comments, suggestions, research tips, or by putting in a good word on your own blog or through Facebook mentions and retweets—I am most grateful. There is always a hesitation, a feeling of apprehension before clicking that “publish” button late late at night. You have made each morning after seem more like Christmas for me.

While I’d like to continue that writing, that reading of others’ blogs, that seeking of inspiration both online and offline, I know it is as we bump up against each other, look each other in some sort of digital eye, and get to know each other’s interests and—more importantly—hopes in work and life that we develop that richer contextual fabric and hone those intents into tangible projects.

Though I am still making feeble attempts at reaching out to others in this GeneaBlogging world through these new toys of Twitter, Google Plus, or Facebook, I have to remember that these are the tools that facilitate today’s Great Conversation. It is the reaching out and connecting that is the essential point.

In the blogging ecology, the way we inter-relate influences every aspect of the larger systems in which we operate—from our individual contributions in immediate circles of interest to the strength we lend to the overarching webs of our networks. The essential element in our social media ecosystems is a healthy respect for the potential of what each one of us means to each other.

I’m thankful for one year of discovering a world of wonder in an ecology such as this.