[This is an ongoing Facebook project that I've decided to share here as well,
slightly revised and expanded, with additional photos and links.
Check back for updates through 4 July 2026.]
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The 21st Century I find it interesting that the closer to our own time I get, the harder these posts are to write. The reason is two-fold: first that there are no new ancestors to introduce whose stories I can share; it is just my sister and I now. (Our last grandparent died in 2002, and our parents in 2010 and 2021.) The second reason is that it is much harder to gauge which current events will have real long-term historical significance, the likely bullet points in some future timeline if America reaches 300 years.
Anyway, one event of which I am certain is September 11, 2001. Like all of us, I have a story about that tragic day. Initially we had planned to go camping at the Grand Canyon across that week, as my birthday is on the 12th. (I can only imagine coming back into civilization after a few days and learning what had occurred.) Instead, we stayed home, and ended up adopting our first dog, filling out paperwork at the shelter and arranging to pick her up at the vet’s office a few days later.
The first phone call–at about 6 am–was from one of Stephen’s sisters. Several time zones ahead of us, she was already awake and had seen the news about the first attack. At that time, Stephen was working at Disneyland, which was considered a possible target, which prompted her call. We immediately went to our televisions and, like so many others, sat numbly as the events of that morning unfolded. A bit later, our downstairs neighbor that we barely knew came up to join us; she had recently relocated from NYC and didn’t want to be alone. An hour or so after that, the phone rang again; this time it was the vet’s office. Apologetically, the caller said “Our staff would like to go home to be with their families. Are you still planning to come in for your puppy?” We had completely forgotten. Off we went, and our Maisie came home with us. Sitting on the couch watching the atrocities, she sat in our laps giving us unconditional love–and hope. Over the years, we have visited both the 9/11 and Flight 93 Memorials. But rather than let sorrow overwhelm us on each anniversary, we have renamed that day “Maisie Day” and find something positive to celebrate–and fly our flag.
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| Little Maisie on Gotcha Day, September 11, 2001 |
In 2008, bucking centuries of both the American and family traditions of “go west, young man!” Stephen and I, middle-aged men, went east. We relocated to Greenhills OH, a WPA era community I’ve mentioned in an earlier post. In 2011, I began my genealogy research in earnest, and consequently, this blog. Both the move and the hobby furthered my interest in America and Americans, expanding our Road Trip possibilities with new points of interest. Reading up on the early days of American travel, I came across this fantastic bit from Dallas Lore Sharp, who, a little over one hundred years ago urged every American to hit the road
so we might have faith and love for this broad land, its forms and terms and manners, its habitable soil, its cheerful sky, its many and mighty cities, its multi-tongued, multi-millioned, but not amorphous people.
I couldn’t agree more.
We drove the Blue Ridge Parkway, and took sightseeing outings to Saint Louis, Chicago, Pittsburgh, and Washington DC among others. I made solo day trips to Toledo and Marysville Ohio, and Lawrence County Indiana to learn more about my family tree. One place I did not visit was eighty feet deep in Lake Erie, near Cleveland, where the remains of one of my 3x great-grandfather Frederick Ketchum’s ships, the Plymouth, was discovered in 2014. He built the schooner in nearby Huron OH in 1847, and it sank just five years later after being rammed amidship by a steamer. You can read more about it here.
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| The bow. photo courtesy Courtesy of David VanZandt/CLUE |
Anyway. 2016 was the 100th Anniversary of the National Park System. We love the National Parks, Monuments, Historical Sites, Battlefields, Historic Trails…. Another three-named author from the last century, Maria Letitia Stockett, wrote
By all means see America First, and then see it again. Don’t miss the rangers. See the National Parks–it will restore your faith in a democratic government--almost--but I do not wish to exaggerate.
Indeed. We have visited over one hundred and fifty of them, duly getting our passport books stamped at each one. They are cherished souvenirs.
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| Just some of our souvenirs. Our Park Passports can be seen stacked on the top right, and our version of a dashboard Jesus, a Park Ranger, stands in the lower left. |
We combined sightseeing and family lore with a splendid trip to New England in 2019, visiting both National Historic Sites and small-town historical societies. We even got to be in a parade, and what’s more American than that?
But the last decade was not all campsites and monuments, although there was at least one monumental decision made by the Supreme Court: same-sex marriage became legal in 2015. Stephen obliged and we made it legal the following year, on our 25th anniversary. Greenhills' Mayor (who lives on our street) officiated in our backyard, with the dogs as witnesses. And 2020 brought the global Coronavirus Pandemic, which we all endured, so need be discussed no further. But I can’t help wondering how it will be remembered one hundred years from now.
July 4th, 2026 As I write this, bombs bursting in air and dogs cowering at my feet, the United States is celebrating the 250th anniversary of our Independence Day. My contribution has been these posts: 27 of them, more or less weekly, covering 416 years of American--and family--history.
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| Before the fireworks. |
In these posts I have named 117 direct ancestors of mine and seven of Stephen's. If we consider ancestral connections like distant cousins, my family tree grows even larger. Using Wikitree, I find that I am very distantly related to 32 presidents. E pluribus unum, indeed.
Yet are we one nation, indivisible? Although it is bittersweet to consider that my distinct family tree is coming to the end of its line with me, I hope America's story can continue, despite the direction of division and chaos it seems to be taking. At any rate, for all of us, our ancestors' influences will live on. Telling their stories is my contribution.
Gertrude Stein, one of my favorite authors, wrote extensively about America, despite, or perhaps because of her living most of her adult life as an ex-patriot in Paris. She once said, "anything is a detective story," which I will amend to "everything is a history story." History is not something that happened to other people. You are part of History. You may have no famous names attached to famous events in your family tree, but your ancestors lived through those times just as we are living through ours. Take note.
My sister has absolutely no interest in genealogy beyond the people she actually knew. To her, everyone else is just a collection of names and dates. But I'm certain of our forebears' influence on us, however indirect. As I sat on my parents' laps learning from them, they did the same with their parents, and so on through the generations. I feel that connection.
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I have two photos that might explain what I mean. In the photo on the right, the little boy is baby me with my parents, and my grandparents (the other fella being my namesake, Uncle Bob). In the lefthand photo, dated about fifty years earlier, the little boy is my grandfather from the first photo.. He's sitting on the lap of his mother, who is seated next to her father, seated next to his mother, seated next to her mother. That woman was my 4x great-grandmother, Clarissa Alma Cornwell, born in 1819. Across just two photos are seven generations, dating back 207 years from today! Do you feel it?
100 years ago, Frederic Van de Water wrote, To us, America is no longer an abstract noun, or familiar map of patchwork, or a flag, or a great domed building in Washington. It is something clearer and dearer and we think higher. It is the road we traveled.
Thanks for taking this American journey with me. Safe travels!
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| center: Me, age ten, on a family trip to Washington DC. |
