What I'm Made Of

We have these old genealogy books lying around our house, filled with some truly remarkable stories from the lives of my ancestors. Every few years I get the itch to open them up and remind myself just how unworthy I am to be numbered among their posterity, and how much I underappreciate the legacy of faith and general awesomeness that they left me.

In particular, I am struck by the awesomeness of my female ancestors.

There is my great-great-great grandmother, Eliza Gill Hartley. Recently widowed and recently converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Eliza packed up her 5 kids, left her home in Sheffield, England, sailed to America, and joined the Edward Martin handcart company. You Mormons out there know the rest of that story.

One of Eliza's granddaughters, Sarah Lucina Curtis, married Robert Augustus Snyder and had 14 children. After child number 12, Sarah went completely blind. She still managed to cook, clean, and run her household as before. She could tell her children apart by the sound of their footsteps. An excellent quilter, she learned to tell colors of fabric apart by their taste and smell. She knitted over 80 pairs of socks and 40 pairs of mittens for the soldiers in WW1. Blind. She was an absolute beast.

Here she is, 9 kids in and just getting warmed up. The little girl standing in front of her father is my dad's mom, Lillie Snyder Johansen.



Probably my favorite family photo comes from my mother's side. It is a photo of my great grandmother, Emma Jane Anthony. My mother said she was a hoot, and whenever I look at this picture I can't help but laugh. Here she is, holding my uncle Loren in one arm and some dead chickens in the other:



Now that is a woman who knows how to get s*** done. Do they even make women like this anymore? There is nothing she can't do. She is gentle and loving, capable and fearless. When life gets tough, I think of this photo and tell myself to snap out of it--to get in there and "pluck those chickens" as it were.

Diluted though it may be, the blood of these three women does still run through my veins. Oh, and the blood of one more great woman:



Big shoes to fill. I'd better get started.