I’ve been going through old papers, finding papers 100 years old to the day…
This is a warranty deed, this a homestead filing, that a mortgage.
No stories.
Just names we’ve heard for years.
Signatures in ink… real ink… dipped, bold to fading…
Surprised that the man I pictured as rough and tumble had great handwriting… the ones that had scribbled signatures reflected age and a shaky hand… tiny printing that is still a trait of the Greet males…
It is fun
and enlightening
and historically significant for us, at least.
And then the pictures.
Not one hundred years old, but old.
I look at boots,
and saddles,
and hats,
and horses,
and dogs.
But more, the background. I can walk over and stand in this place in a couple of minutes. I think more than anything… it is *that* the connects us to those people and their stories from before. That any essence that was theirs might linger in that spot… and I can walk to it… and breathe in… and share those old tales.
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