Sam went to a family funeral in Wyoming this week, leaving me to fend for myself with the dogs. I was getting ready to close my laptop tonight and looked over at my bookshelf. For whatever reason, a pile of family history documents my grandma mailed me a while back caught my eye, and with nothing better to do, I dug in. Growing up, I know I spaced out during hundreds of conversations about my family’s history. As the little girl who played fiddle, I was roped into many family reunions, nursing home afternoons, and funerals. At these events, my...
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