Subject: The Census Taker
   Date: Tue, 1 Sep 1998
   From: [email protected]
     To: [email protected]

The Census Taker

It was the first day of census, and all through the land
each pollster was ready.. a black book in his 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 in her face
and wisps of brown hair she tucked back in place.
She gave him some water, as they sat at the table..
and she answered his questions.. the best she was able.
He ask 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;
sister, she whispered was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride,
and she felt the faint stirring of the wee one inside.
He noted the sex, color, the age...
the marks from his quill soon filled the whole page.

At the number of her children she nodded her head,
and he saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.
The places of birth she "never forgot"
was it Virginia, Carolina or Georgia... or not ?
They came here from Scotland, of that she was clear,
but she wasn't quite sure how long they'd been here.

They spoke of occupations, 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 rode toward the sun.
We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear,
"May God bless you and keep you for another ten years.

Now picture a time warp... it's 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 we only imagine on that long ago day
that the entries they made then would affect us this way ?
If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel
and our searching that makes them incredibly 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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