I went searching for an ancestor, I cannot find him still.
He moved around from place to place and did not leave a will.

He married where a courthouse burned, he mended all his fences.
He avoided any man who came to take the U.S. Census.

He always kept his luggage packed, this man who had no fame,
And every 20 years or so, this rascal changed his name.

His parents came from Europe. They should be on some list
of passengers to the U.S.A., but somehow they got missed.

And no one else in this world is searching for this man.
So, I play geneasolitaire to find him if I can.

I'm told he's buried in a plot, with tombstone he was blessed;
but the weather took engraving, and some vandals took the rest.

He died before the county clerks decided to keep records.
No family Bible has emerged, in spite of all my efforts.

To top it off, this ancestor who caused me many groans,
Just to give me one more pain, betrothed a girl named JONES!

 "But everyone tells their age to the census taker,"
 he said.
"Did Miss Maisy Hill, and Miss Daisy Hill tell you their ages?"
 she asked.
"Certainly," he replied "Well, I'm the same age as they are," she
 snapped.

 "As old as the Hills," he wrote on his form.

Backwoods Census

A census taker was working in the hills of Arkansas.
He walked up to one shed where a woman was sitting
on the step.

After introducing himself, the census taker said,
"How many children do you have?"

The woman answered, "Fo'."

The census taker then asked, "May I have their names,
please?"

The woman replied, "Eenie, Meenie, Minie and George."

Confused, the census taker said, "Okay, that's fine.
But may I ask why you named your fourth child
'George'?"

"Because we didn't want any Mo'."
 
 

CENSUS TAKER 
 It was the first day of census, and all through the land; 
 The 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 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; 
 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 Poland, 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 ... 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 they only imagine on that long ago day; 
 That the entries they made would affect 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