> Something to think about this (American) census year. > > THE 1800 CENSUS > > 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 Kansas? 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 -- its' 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. > > - Anonymous