Kim Westover

Great Beards in Family History

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Facial hair is not prolific in our family lines.

It may be all the missionaries and school teachers we have had over the years or perhaps it just that the manly art of beards and mustaches just isn’t in our gene pool.

But on a recent perusal of the gallery feature at FamilySearch.org I began to notice not only that we DO have some beards we actually have some EPIC beards — you know, hall of fame stuff — when it comes to facial hair.

Take, for example, this very modern-looking beard from William Rowe:

William Rowe

William is the father of Ruth Althea Rowe. He was a member of the Mormon Battalion as well as one of the founding fathers of the town of Mendon, Utah. He had a huge influence on William Westover and it appears he kept his beard for the majority of his adult life. It is not known when this photo was taken but I suspect it dates from about the 1860s.

So many of these pictures feature older men with beards. Not this one. Here is Uncle Loris, from about 1943, with a young man’s beard for sure. He is in uniform here so I think there is a story to this image and this beard that maybe someone out there knows:

Loris Westover

The first of the Riggs family to join the Church was William Sears Riggs. He too sported a beard most of his adult life but this later-in-life image is my favorite his epic beard:

William Sears Riggs

He was one of many who headed west for the gold fields in California, but he came west with an LDS wagon train in 1850. He was convinced to wait the winter months out in Utah before pressing on to the gold mines. He ended up staying, joining the Church and raising a family in Utah.

His story isn’t quite as dramatic as the story of Samuel Barnhurst (told in this post). Here is Samuel and his fine beard from about 1870:

Samuel Barnhurst

Samuel, of course, is father of Priscilla Barnhurst, who is the mother of the man sporting this more subtle beard:

Will Riggs

This is my great-grandpa Riggs and I know many who just love this picture of him. The hat always gets the first comment but honestly the mustache and the soul-patch on his chin just complete the look altogether. This is one of those pictures I would love to know the story behind. When was it taken, what’s up with that hat and why didn’t he keep the trendy facial hair?

Next up and sporting the under-the-chin beard variety is the very famous, Horace Roberts:

Horace Roberts

Horace Roberts learned the art of pottery and dish making from his father — in Illinois. When he joined the Church he was asked by the Prophet Joseph to open a pottery shop in Nauvoo, and he did. Later Brigham asked him to do the same in Provo. Due to his craft he was a very well known individual. He was also father to Jane Cecelia Roberts, who was a wife to this guy:

James C. Snow

James Chauncey Snow was a son of Garner Snow, who you’ve read about here on WFH, who joined the Church in 1833. James would have a prolific career in the Church, serving as a missionary and later in several leadership positions. He was also involved in local and state politics. When he died he was buried in Manti, which just happens to be the home of this man:

Albert Smith

Rockin’ the Amish style beard is Albert Smith, whose story will be told soon in an upcoming video. Albert too was a member of the Mormon Battalion and later a founder of the city of Manti, where he spent the remainder of his life. He was there so long and was so beloved in that community that for decades it seemed “Father Smith” spoke at every civic 4th of July and Pioneer Day celebration in Manti.

Rounding out our review of epic beards is a turn to the 21st century and my cousin, Kim Westover.

Kim Westover

This epic shot of this iconic beard reminds many of Hemingway and while I get that what I really see is a man with profound love for family and heritage. He knows well all the men above, as well as many others, and leads the family not only with occasional facial hair but in a unifying spirit, a great disposition, and a generous nature.

I hope I haven’t left anyone out. If you have any other great beards from our family past to share, please send them in!

Manti Temple Workers 1886

Photo Forensics in Family History

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I have been spending a lot of time in the world of Albert Smith for an upcoming video we hope to release. That, of course, comes with an always challenging effort to find images to help tell his story.

The best and perhaps most beloved photo of Albert is this one, showing him late in life with one of his wives:

Albert And Sophie

This photo has been mired in controversy for decades. That is most definitely Albert Smith, seated in the chair wearing the checkered suit. But the question comes from the woman pictured — is it Rhoda Gifford Smith or Sophie Klauen Smith?

Albert Smith lost his first wife, Esther, in 1856. As was common in the 19th century Albert began looking for a new companion because survival on the farm demanded it. He found a widow, Rhoda Gifford, who was likewise in need of a spouse and they married.

This was in 1857 — right after the arrival of the Willie Handcart Company. Grandma Sophie’s story has been told. Together, with Albert and Rhoda, Sophie went to the endowment house on Valentine’s Day 1857 and were sealed at the same time.

Albert Smith was suddenly a polygamist.

It wasn’t a happy arrangement and we’ll get into that in the video. For now though, let it suffice to say that Rhoda and Albert divorced in 1865 — long before the photo above was taken.

The picture above was taken by George Edward Anderson, a photographer born in 1860. This article from the September 1973 Ensign tells his story. The photo above was found in his collection of images dating from 1880-1928.

We know that Albert died in 1892. So this picture was taken between 1880 and 1892 — long after Rhoda was out of the picture. That woman in the photo is Grandma Sophie.

Mystery solved.

But in the resolution of one mystery comes yet another. And that is in this image:

Who are these people?

The photo is the next in sequence taken in Anderson’s Springville studio. It is likewise marked “Albert Smith”.

Looking at this couple do you suspect they are married? Or could they be brother and sister?

I have not figured it out yet. The records I’ve found of Albert Smith Jr. are so far pretty scant. He was married in 1883, just 22 years old, to Caroline Nielsen.

Looking at her records, which includes a few images, the woman in the photo above is definitely NOT Caroline. She and Albert Jr had three children in the 1880s — two sons and a little daughter, Mary Elizabeth, who died, along with Caroline, in 1889.

The journal of Albert Smith records a little about this period of time, with letters flying back and forth among the various family members. Not only did Albert Jr suffer from devastating news but sister Albertina, four years older, died in childbrith in June of 1890 in Huntington, Utah. Albert’s journal speaks of Albert Jr. returning to the Smith home in Manti with at least five of the grandchildren to stay with them a while.

I could be wrong — and probably I am wrong — but something tells me that might be a picture of Albert Jr and Mary Ann Humble sometime before they were married in December 1891.

Mary Ann Humble had been married before to a man named Clark Brinkerhoff. She was his 2nd wife. He was sent on a mission and while he was gone the Manifesto came out. With that he never returned to Mary Ann and the child they had together. In 1891 she married Albert Smith Jr, and he adopted the son Mary Ann and Clark had together.

Missing for me in identifying the picture above are the critical details in the histories of Albert Smith Jr and Mary Ann Humble.

Whoever these people are — they knew Albert Sr. and Sophie, because this picture very obviously was taken at the same time and paid for by Albert Smith in the studio of George Edward Anderson in Springville, Utah.

Note: I’m still combing through Anderson’s sizable collection but I did find this image of Manti Temple Workers taken in 1886. I’m wondering if there are any Smiths, Nielsons or Snows recognizable in these faces.

Manti Temple Workers 1886

Samuel Barnhurst

Getting the Story Right

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When I first began using Family Search I was somewhat frustrated with the idea that anyone could edit information on that one-world family tree.

To me, the “watch” feature is a critical function of Family Search. I click on “watch” next to any name and if someone comes along and adds or changes something I get notified about it right away.

Indeed, I get annoyed with unknown folks making ill-advised changes to data associated with my family members.

But over time I have come to see the wisdom of an open-edit record.

Not only do we get more complete information about our ancestors, in time more of their stories become easier to understand because inevitably other people have data, journals, and photos I do not possess.

This is a good thing. We all make the record stronger. The stronger the record, the more accurate the information we receive.

Family stories, you see, are not always family truth.

Consider for example the story of Samuel Barnhurst.

Samuel Barnhurst was the father of my Great Grandma Riggs. I’ve spent some time the past year or so working on learning the Riggs story so that I can begin sharing it here.

Like most of our stories I tend to focus on migrations west that explain the how and the why we all came to be in this part of the world now. Samuel’s story of his westward migration is no less epic than any other we’ve shared here.

Samuel Barnhurst was born in 1827 in Philadelphia to an English immigrant family. His parents were from England where his father was a silversmith. They were well-to-do, well connected and quite religious.

His parents, Joseph and Priscilla, were married and had two children before coming to Philadelphia sometime between 1812 and 1819. They would have ten more children in America, including Samuel, who would be the 9th of their 12 children.

Perhaps it was because of their wealthy status that we have pictures of almost their entire family, both together around 1840ish and later in life as photography became more established. I am hopeful that I learn from the records left behind of Samuel’s siblings what really happened in his early years that caused him to leave Philadelphia.

Certainly his conversion to the LDS church was central to the story.

I started collecting information on Samuel about 20 years ago when I had stumbled across a family history website who claimed him as an ancestor. Sadly, I can no longer find that website or remember who authored it but the story I archived from it varies quite a bit from what is now available from various sources on FamilySearch.org.

Joseph Barnhurst Family

The Joseph Barnhurst Family in the 1840s, perhaps as late as 1850.

Joseph and Priscilla and family were very active in a Baptist Church in Philadelphia. Young Samuel, who in his mid-20s had married a woman and started a family of his own, was employed in something that gave him extraordinary interest in religion.

The story I first found on that website was that Samuel was a newspaper columnist who wrote on religion in Philadelphia. One of the stories he wrote about in the 1840s was rumors of the Mormon Church and their “gold bible”.

In the aftermath of his published story mocking the Church he attended a lecture where missionaries of the Church rebutted his story – and therein began his association with the Church.

After catching up on Samuel’s stories on Family Search, I’m not sure any of that is true.

Here is an excerpt from another history posted of Samuel on Family Search:

“Samuel had high blood pressure and varicose veins. Doctors did all they could for him, bled him and put leaches on to keep his veins from bursting. One night he was wondering what to do, he either dreamed, or had a vision. He saw two men; a voice told him to go to them and they would tell him what to do to be cured.

About that time, Mormon missionaries were sent to that city. One day he was walking down town when he saw the two men he was shown in his dream on the other side of the street. He crossed over and spoke to them. They told him he would have to have faith. He was about 28 or 29 years of age. After attending their meetings he was favorably impressed with their teachings. His family was very opposed to the Elders but he decided to pray to find out for himself.

He went to his room to pray and see if the Church was true. The room began to get light. The brightness of it was more than he could stand and he told the Lord he was satisfied, to take it away. As the light began to die down he thought how foolish he was not to see more when he had a chance. No sooner had he thought this than it became brighter than before and he said he could stand no more. A voice said, “Anytime you want to see or hear more, ask and you shall receive.”

He asked the Elders for baptism and later was administered to for his illness. He was instantly healed and was never troubled with it again.”

Regardless of what his situation was that brought Samuel to the Church it is clear his family was greatly opposed to it.

Almost universally in all the histories shared about Samuel the story is told of him coming home one night and hearing voices of people in another room talking about him.

As he listened to their conversation through a door he heard their plot to kidnap and institutionalize him for his conversion to Mormonism.

So bitter was the divide that Joseph, Samuel’s father, evidently said “it would be bad enough to have a son in the insane-asylum, but even that would be better and easier to live down than having a son who had joined the Mormon Church”.

Whatever the truth, Samuel left.

No official record of divorce is known and family records clearly show that Samuel never again had contact with any of his family – not his parents, his wife or his children – in Philadelphia. In fact, in later years both branches of the Barnhurst family were shocked to learn the other existed.

In 1857 around the age of 30, Samuel headed west in the company of returning missionaries – including apostles John Taylor and Erastus Snow.

That year of 1857 was pivotal in the history of the Church in Utah. We’ve talked about it before. The march of Johnston’s army was underway and the Church was going through the famous Mormon Reformation. This was when polygamy grew immensely within LDS ranks, as we’ve seen the histories of other branches of the family.

It was also a season of peak immigration with Saints arriving from Europe, many of whom spoke languages other than English. This included a young single woman from Denmark named Ane Marie Jensen, whose story shared some interesting parallels to Samuel Barnhurst’s.

Though they did not know each other, at the encouragement of their new Church leaders in Utah, Samuel and Ane married just months after arriving in Utah in 1857.

He would live until 1890, she would live until 1906.

Their 30+ years together would bring 9 children into the world and would see them move several times before settling in Hatch, Utah where they and their children would impact local history.

In fact, a Google search of Hatch history reveals that a son of Samuel and Ane served in a Bishopric with William R. Riggs when they moved the town of Hatch to higher ground to avoid flooding from a local dam.

I don’t know the story of that association yet but it yielded a marriage between the Riggs and the Barnhurst families.

One history states that Samuel never reconciled with his Philadelphia family and that he refused to acknowledge or even to talk about them for the remainder of his days.
I question that. After all, my Great grandmother – his daughter – was named after his mother and his youngest child was named Joseph, after his father.

I’m guessing and this is pure speculation that the adult years of gospel training in the life of Samuel Barnhurst taught him not only forgiveness but respect for love and family. Theirs is another reunion I’m curious about when it took place on the other side.

I would encourage you to have an account at Family Search and to get out of the data of births and deaths and ordinances and begin reading and sharing the stories and histories people are posting there.

If you have old histories sitting around somewhere that are not on Family Search I would encourage you to upload them for all to enjoy.

Samuel Barnhust and Ane Marie Jensen are pioneers – beloved as much as any others we have spotlighted. I look forward to learning more about them.

Alexander Westover

The Dead Among Us

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The other night I was visiting in my living room with a neighbor, a man I have only come to know in the past year or so.

As we were chatting he suddenly looked slightly to the right towards a window on the south wall of the room and his eyes got suddenly very large.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude but there’s a spirit over there by the window — a very good one.”

I kind of wish I had video of my reaction to this comment. I was surprised not at all. I asked him if the spirit was a man or a woman.

“I don’t know, I can’t tell. I can’t really see features, it is just something I sense. This is someone close to you,” he told me. “Someone you know very well and who knows you. I get such a warm feeling.”

Without much thought I said, “That’s my Mom.”

I pointed to a picture of her on the wall over his left shoulder. He looked up at the picture and gasped.

“That’s who it is!” he said.

And then, as if talking about the weather, he asked, “Does she visit you often?”

I had to think about my answer to that question. My first inclination was to immediately say “no”.

I miss my Mom something fierce. I have been blessed not to have lost a lot of loved ones in my life, so losing my mother has been a new kind of experience for me, one that has surprised me many times with new emotions and feelings. In the more than two years since her passing I cannot say all the feelings associated with her loss have diminished much within me.

I had a long time to prepare for her passing.

I have studied and have learned and been taught all my life about the plan of salvation and I think I understand it.

But that still didn’t prepare me for all I would feel when death actually touched someone so close to me in my life.

Those feelings are very sacred to me and even still very close to the surface, tender at times, I admit.

But while I think of my mother often, especially when I work on things associated with her, I sometimes can sense how close she is.

And by “close” I mean close as in proximity. It is difficult to explain because it is not so much a feeling of physical closeness but more of an awareness of her knowing something important in real time as it happens.

It is a spiritual feeling but not quite like feeling the Spirit.

It is new to me and very hard for me to articulate.

But unlike my friend, who clearly has a special spiritual gift, I have NOT seen spirits and cannot lay claim to such manifestations.

I have known a few others in my life, my mother ironically, who had experiences like that. But it is not my gift.

But I have no problem seeing how real this all is and that was likely why he was so surprised about my reaction to what he witnessed. He was afraid I would think he was crazy or that such candid sharing between us would result in a change in our relationship.

But he’s not crazy, I believed what he said he saw and to me it is as real as anything else seen in this life.

I’ll tell you why.

Somewhere in these pages I’m sure I’ve told you about my experience working on the name of Francis Welty, one of my mother’s family from the 19th century.

As I was working on validating names from a family group for the temple I stumbled upon Francis, who my mother had identified in her records as a daughter of George Welty, her 3rd great grandfather.

But in later records (records I don’t think Mom in her time had access to) I didn’t find Francis, a daughter of George — I found Frank — a son, of George Welty.

It was the first time I had found a mistake in my mother’s research and I felt funny changing something she had done in FamilySearch.

As I sat here at my keyboard thinking about that for a minute I sensed a very warm feeling of confirmation and I felt my mother very, very close — like right behind me. It was as if she was saying, “That’s right. Fix it.”

I did not feel her hand on my shoulder and I did not actually hear her voice. But that is how I felt in that particular moment.

It was real. I was at my desk in a rocking chair and I stopped myself from leaning back, out of fear of hitting her foot — that’s how close she felt and how real that moment was to me.

We have been promised we would have our dead among us as we work on Family History and this is one of my most certain experiences that testifies to that truth. I cannot claim many such moments but I claim that one and I’m grateful for it.

As I have taken Uncle Frank’s work to the temple I reflect on the experience every time and each time I receive validation of what work is being done.

But there are other times, times unexpected I would say, that I feel my mother close by.

Whenever I have time to do things with my grandchildren I often get a feeling that my mother is aware and likewise delighting in a moment with me.

I have also had a sense of my mother’s awareness at key family events, including even when my father remarried earlier this year. Who would have expected that?

Even recently, as I’ve dealt with some difficult but normal teenage-years stuff with my two youngest at home, I have felt my mother’s presence.

All of this was not something I expected.

In fact, I have formed the opinion that if I were to pass away and go to the other side and see my mother I would have no news to share because she already knows it all. Such thoughts give me great comfort.

Losing my mother, I knew at the time, meant going through a physical separation from her. I was with her in her dying moments. I felt that immediately and I felt it keenly. Days later, as I looked upon her physical form for the final time in this life, the cold, stark reality of her absence from her body was shocking and even horrifying to me. I touched her arm and she did not feel it. I’ll never forget that.

But it is almost because of that moment that all the other times now when I sense her presence the feeling is so real and so important to me.

So in answer to my friend’s question about Mom visiting me often I said “yes”. But I did explain that I had never seen her, only felt her presence.

On the same wall as the window where my friend had this experience is the pioneer trail map I gave my Dad a couple of years ago, and on it appear several pictures of pioneer family members who, of course, I have never met.

“What about those people?” he asked me. “Have you felt them here as well?”

“No,” I said.

We didn’t have the time for me to explain what I knew about each of them and how I have come to know them these past five years. I wish I could have explained.

But my friend only nodded. Then he said something that again surprised me not at all. He has been in my home many times now and that pioneer map has not always been here. In fact, I only recently hung it on that living room wall.

“They know YOU,” he said. “They come here too. Your home is filled with people some times, I have seen it. It is always a good feeling and that is not always the case when these things happen to me.”

Now that blows me away.

Our Trek

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I noticed on Facebook that members of the Stake we used to live in are once again headed to Wyoming for Trek.

Trek is a re-enactment of the Mormon Pioneer trail. For a period of three to five days large groups of mostly youth and the adult leaders head to Martin’s Cove, Wyoming to camp and walk the trail.

The place is sacred to Latter-day Saints. It was at Martin’s Cove where the Martin Handcart Company spent their critical hours.

I have to admit that I felt a bit envious of those I see this week dressed in pioneer clothing heading out for the trail.
And that is an astonishing statement only because I really had a miserable time.

Our first day of Trek began long before sunlight as we dressed and packed our allotted 17 pounds of gear. We met at the Church for a devotional, where prayers were said and blessings were given. I recall how serious our good Stake President was as he stood there – the only one in the chapel in a suit – and promised that we would have a spiritual experience.

For me that was a foregone conclusion.

In my calling for Trek I had spent months in preparation for my role. I was to be a storyteller and a witness and I was encouraged to tell the stories of my family if I had them.

For me those months in early 2013 were filled with spirit and revelation.

Understand that these people I was studying were not ancestors in need of my efforts in their behalf in the Temple.

These were people who had gained their own testimonies and had performed ordinance work for themselves.

I hardly knew anything about them or their trek before this experience began.

But I was determined to tell their stories on Trek – no matter what it would take. And it would take a lot — at least for me.

It began with a long bus ride – a long HOT bus ride as the vehicle we were in had no air conditioning. It was so hot that I’m convinced many on the bus were dehydrated before we set foot in Wyoming.

As we got off the bus, they handed us a bottle of water and told us to drink. We held a meeting where we were warned of the dangers of the area – snakes and critters and such.

But worst of all were the elements and unlike the pioneers, who were nowhere near Wyoming in late June, we were prone to sun burn, heat stroke and dehydration. Yes, we were told, people like us who came on Trek actually died because they simply were not hydrated enough.

With those cheery warnings in our ears we began putting our things into the handcarts and we pushed off onto the trail.

It was only a few miles but for this overweight, middle-aged, sedentary man it was a struggle.

My head pounded, I was short on breath, red in the head and everyone kept looking back on me as I fell further and further behind.

We stopped midway to our destination to rehydrate and use the restrooms and more than one concerned individual pulled me aside to ask how I was doing and whether or not I was physically up to the task at hand.

The answer was clearly no. I was not up to it.

But for as awful as I felt and for as worried as I was about what the next few days would be like for me I could not escape the thoughts of my ancestors who had done this for real.

In my studies I learned that we in our generation make far more of the ordeal across the plains than they did.
For many, it was four to six months out of their lives – a mere moment in time for lives that were spent facing so many grueling challenges.

Well, I’m not going to lie.

The next couple of days were completely beyond my physical abilities and I struggled through every step of it.

So why do I look with envy upon those headed out for that experience this week?

It is because Trek was so much more than those three days in the hot sun.

It was months of study and discovery. It was just a few important moments of storytelling and testifying. And it was a sobering period of pondering and reflection as I walked where they walked.

On the final day of our journey we went to Rocky Ridge, a place where the Willie Handcart Company spent a critical night.

For us, in June, there was beauty about the place. There was some green to it, even among all the rocks and boulders.

But for them it had to be awful. When they arrived at this place it was dark and freezing. The snow was ten inches deep.

It is simply a hard, miserable place.

As we walked to the gathering point – a small meadow with logs for benches – we passed a memorial put up by the First Presidency where the simple word REMEMBER stands out.

For me, it was already a special place because I knew the story of Grandma Sophie.

In all the books I read about the Willie Handcart Company I was always able to find the names of Sophie and her children. But never could I find her story. Luckily, I learned it from published accounts on Family Search.

Sophie’s story only grew more compelling after her trek was over but I was certain that within the pages of the journal of Albert Smith I might find some detail of what she endured.

But all he said was that she was a member of the Willie Handcart Company and had “passed through many hardships”.

So while I knew that Grandma Sophie was there and I knew how the rest of her story turned out I really hadn’t learned what a miracle her trek experience really was – until I pondered her situation while at Rocky Ridge.

As we sat in that devotional and sang some of the songs of Zion I never felt the wind there stop or diminish. The sun was beating down on us and it was hot – uncomfortably so.

But in my mind’s eye I could see how cold and harsh of a place Rocky Ridge is – and it has to be a hundred times more miserable in a winter’s storm. If there is an end to earth it is at Rocky Ridge.

There are no flat surfaces in that place – no place to pitch a tent. Obviously there is no food, no water, and none of comforts of natural things like trees or brush. There are no natural shelters and there is no protection from the wind.

As I sat there in this stark place – and tried to remember – I felt a rush of revelation fill my head.

I FELT the presence of Grandma Sophie, even though I had never met her.

It was a burning witness like none I have ever had in my life. And it told me that yes, she had indeed been there and that yes, I was her grandson.

As simple as that sounds it was a powerful, sobering moment for me.

It was a witness not that she was special because she was a pioneer who had survived but rather she was special because she acted on faith. She was there bearing witness to me that her faith was well founded – that for all she had endured it was the right choice, even though she ended up in that harsh place with her life on the line.

Sophie had endured so much. In 1853 she lost her husband, Peder, who was only 37 or so. Together they had brought 8 children into the world and within three years only 4 of them had survived to be with her in the terrible place of Rocky Ridge.

My thoughts there began by wondering what did Sophie think on the night she was in this place?

Did she wonder if she would live through the night? Did she wonder where life in Denmark had gone? Did she think Zion would ever happen for her?

As I thought all these terribly sad thoughts the rush of warmth came over me and I felt her there. And what came to my mind wasn’t the detail of how harsh this place is or how terrible the trial was that Sophie endured or how miserable my weak efforts had been for just a couple of days on Trek.

No, what came to me was that all of that was secondary to just one thing. And that thing was faith.

When they say that we cannot be saved without our dead I believe it is moments like these that make that true.

I believe I was given a witness that night from this beloved ancestor.

And that’s what makes me envious of those folks out on the trail tonight as I write this.

Of course, you don’t have to go on Trek to have these experiences.

But for me Trek introduced these experiences to me on many levels. And I have had other such experiences over the past four years.

It has been life changing for me.

Where I am now is not where I thought I would be four years ago. And where I am going in the years ahead was not even on my radar then.

We have over the course of four years created a lot of family history on our own. One child has married, two grandchildren have come, and now only two of my children remain at home. So very much has changed.

But what has not changed is truth. What has not changed is the nature of faith. What has not changed is our sacred relationship with our family past and with God himself.

I’m on a new Trek now. And in a little bit like Sophie, I’m not sure how this all ends up.

Well — in the long term.

But it makes me wonder if in some distant day I will be someone’s ancestor and I will have the chance to give a witness to a grandchild.

Something tells me yes, I will. It is part of our trek.