OCONNOR-L Archives

From: <>
Subject: THE CENSUS TAKER
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1998 00:06:32 EDT

THE CENSUS TAKER

It was the first day of census, and all through the land each 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 her of 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.
Author unknown

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