
I Want to Know the Leaves
My great-grandmother deserves better than a name on a family tree. I want to understand the people between the names and dates, and leave something of my own story behind.
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15 entries

My great-grandmother deserves better than a name on a family tree. I want to understand the people between the names and dates, and leave something of my own story behind.

Two voting photographs, six years apart, open a family history of Clifton, Lakeside Village, and the rooms where we learned to belong.

A flattering tribute leaves difficult questions about arrival dates, slavery, and what a family history owes its subjects.

A presidential sex scandal, a mountain commune, spectacularly wrong shoes, and the family visit that brought two worlds to the same dinner table.

A day at the scanner becomes a Birdwell family album: Ivana Sue, Papa Birdwell, Big Mama, and the lives that still shape ours.

A rainy return to Clifton, Texas: childhood field trips, family roots, Olaf’s, and the people keeping a town’s cultural life going.

An errand with my mother became a journey through the Hill County landscape that keeps giving our family pieces of itself.

Boarding school, invisible fatherhood and what happens when a girl dad is left alone with modern technology.

A number crosses generations and refuses to behave like a coincidence.

A restored portrait, a DNA cluster and the patient labor between them.

An heirloom becomes evidence when the story stops floating loose from the object.

Restore the damage. Preserve the people. Leave uncertainty visible.

Seventeen miles to school is not atmosphere. It is the architecture of a childhood.

Highway 6, the Brazos and the institutions that keep a family trail legible.

Two hundred fifty years later, freedom remains both inheritance and unfinished work.