Came across this & wanted to share...may have even gotten it on this list, but it bears repeating. Jeanine NJ       THE CENSUS TAKER   It was the first day of census, and all through the land; The pollster was ready...a black book in hand. He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride; His book and some quills were tucked close by his side.   A long winding ride down a road barely there; Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air. The woman was tired, with lines on her face; And wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.   She gave him some water...as they sat at the table; And she answered his questions...the best she was able. He asked of her children...Yes, she had quite a few; The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.   She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red; His sister, she whispered, was napping in bed. She noted each person who lived there with pride; And she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.   He noted the sex, the color, the age... The marks from the quill soon filled up the page. At the number of children, she nodded her head; And saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.   The places of birth she "never forgot"; Was it Kanssas? or Utah? or Oregon...or not? They came from Scotland, of that she was clear; But she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here.   They spoke of employment, of schooling and such; They could read some...and write some...though really not much. When the questions were answered, his job there was done; So he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun.   We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear; "May God bless you all for another ten years." Now picture a time warp...it's now you and me; As we search for the people on our family tree.   We squint at the census and scroll down so slow; As we search for that entry from long, long ago. Could they only imagine on that long ago day; That the entries they made would effect us this way?   If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel; And the searching that makes them so increasingly real. We can hear if we listen the words they impart; Through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart.                                                  AUTHOR UNKNOWN  

Thank you, Jeanine, that was beautiful. Bob ----- Original Message ----- From: "jeanine" <joyzee_goil@yahoo.com> To: <ny-irish-l@rootsweb.com>; <y-irl@yahoogroups.com> Sent: Monday, March 16, 2009 2:27 PM Subject: [NY-IRISH] The Census Taker (a poem) Came across this & wanted to share...may have even gotten it on this list, but it bears repeating. Jeanine NJ THE CENSUS TAKER It was the first day of census, and all through the land; The pollster was ready...a black book in hand. He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride; His book and some quills were tucked close by his side. A long winding ride down a road barely there; Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air. The woman was tired, with lines on her face; And wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place. She gave him some water...as they sat at the table; And she answered his questions...the best she was able. He asked of her children...Yes, she had quite a few; The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two. She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red; His sister, she whispered, was napping in bed. She noted each person who lived there with pride; And she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside. He noted the sex, the color, the age... The marks from the quill soon filled up the page. At the number of children, she nodded her head; And saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead. The places of birth she "never forgot"; Was it Kanssas? or Utah? or Oregon...or not? They came from Scotland, of that she was clear; But she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here. They spoke of employment, of schooling and such; They could read some...and write some...though really not much. When the questions were answered, his job there was done; So he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun. We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear; "May God bless you all for another ten years." Now picture a time warp...it's now you and me; As we search for the people on our family tree. We squint at the census and scroll down so slow; As we search for that entry from long, long ago. Could they only imagine on that long ago day; That the entries they made would effect us this way? If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel; And the searching that makes them so increasingly real. We can hear if we listen the words they impart; Through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart. AUTHOR UNKNOWN ====NY-Irish Mailing List==== Don't forget to check out the NY-Irish mailing list website. Also, check/add your NY-Irish surnames on the Surname Registry: http://www.connorsgenealogy.com/NYIrishList/ ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to NY-IRISH-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

A poignant piece indeed...makes you feel as though you were right there beside the census taker. The picture of the woman embodies so many wonderful qualities of the poor immigrant women who could read and/or write very little (English, at least). If the family had moved around a lot how could she be expected to know the names of the different states in this enormous land to which they had immigrated? How could she remember which year they arrived? Even though she was tired and no longer young, her children were well cared for. Her house was taken care of, bread was baking for supper. She was hospitable to this stranger, though she had nothing but water to offer. She took pride in her husband and children, still mourning the wee ones who had died, anticipating the birth of the next. At her age it might be her last... How many of her family would be missing in 10 years? ----- Original Message ----- From: "jeanine" <joyzee_goil@yahoo.com> To: <ny-irish-l@rootsweb.com>; <y-irl@yahoogroups.com> Sent: Monday, March 16, 2009 2:27 PM Subject: [NY-IRISH] The Census Taker (a poem) Came across this & wanted to share...may have even gotten it on this list, but it bears repeating. Jeanine NJ THE CENSUS TAKER It was the first day of census, and all through the land; The pollster was ready...a black book in hand. He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride; His book and some quills were tucked close by his side. A long winding ride down a road barely there; Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air. The woman was tired, with lines on her face; And wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place. She gave him some water...as they sat at the table; And she answered his questions...the best she was able. He asked of her children...Yes, she had quite a few; The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two. She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red; His sister, she whispered, was napping in bed. She noted each person who lived there with pride; And she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside. He noted the sex, the color, the age... The marks from the quill soon filled up the page. At the number of children, she nodded her head; And saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead. The places of birth she "never forgot"; Was it Kanssas? or Utah? or Oregon...or not? They came from Scotland, of that she was clear; But she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here. They spoke of employment, of schooling and such; They could read some...and write some...though really not much. When the questions were answered, his job there was done; So he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun. We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear; "May God bless you all for another ten years." Now picture a time warp...it's now you and me; As we search for the people on our family tree. We squint at the census and scroll down so slow; As we search for that entry from long, long ago. Could they only imagine on that long ago day; That the entries they made would effect us this way? If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel; And the searching that makes them so increasingly real. We can hear if we listen the words they impart; Through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart. AUTHOR UNKNOWN ====NY-Irish Mailing List==== Don't forget to check out the NY-Irish mailing list website. Also, check/add your NY-Irish surnames on the Surname Registry: http://www.connorsgenealogy.com/NYIrishList/ ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to NY-IRISH-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message