The Beginning

I was about 10.  I think.  I was riding in the car with my parents and my grandfather in southern Utah, near Kanab.  There were red rocks everywhere.  We had just been in Kanab where my father and grandfather had found someone who knew about our ancestors who had settled the town.  David Ellsworth was a horticulturist.  He had planted fruit trees there and had lived out the remainder of his days in this small town nestled next to the beautiful red rocks of southern Utah.  They visited the cemetery where his last wife was buried.  She had just a little metal marker on her grave, and dad and grandfather decided then and there to have a stone marker made for her grave.  David, on the other hand, was buried under his favorite apple tree.  Nobody knew where that was, but that was the story we had all heard, and apparently it was true.  In the back of the car, as we drove away, I felt a connection to my ancestors and a yearning to do family history research.  I didn't do much about it for years, but now my family is just about grown and now I have time.  I have loved doing what little I have done. I am hooked.  And I'm glad.

Recently I drove through Kanab and felt those familiar stirrings.  I felt a connection again to this place where my great great grandfather lived.