Each house. Each apartment. Each Condo. A home holds so much! There is history, all the emotions, all the hard work, all the gossip, the schedule of daily life.
To hear my dad tell the stories of his childhood on his family farm makes me want to experience life in the 1940’s and 1950’s. To strip away from my brain, life today, and that feeling I will be too late to really be what and who I am suppose to be if I do not start working and living for my family, my husband, myself.
My ancestors had a life that demanded they work hard but they were all together on their own land. Land they traveled from Kentucky to Indiana to take over and claim as their own. A town they helped grow. A place that took their last name as their own. Our town that became Brownsburg, Indiana!
Memories from pictures. A wish that a diary or journal would be found. All the older relatives long gone and buried in lost grave sites overran with weeds and hidden from site. Stories lost along the way. Their memories buried with them. Faded photos, dates of births and deaths, wisps of memories pieced together, form our tree.
All is not lost. We are here, growing, recording, and preserving.
This is a never ending story………………