Finding Family In Teton Valley History...

 I can't remember exactly when, but several months ago I came across a Facebook group called Teton Valley History. I asked to join the group and my request was granted.

It's been fascinating.

For years, Teton Valley was a second home for me and my family. It's because it was my mom's first home. She was born there and grew up there. Many of my early remembrances were of taking a family trip in my dad's huge Buick 225 to Driggs, Idaho to spend time with my grandfather...the only grandparent I ever knew.

Driggs, Idaho and Teton Valley was a child's paradise. My grandfather had a farm, complete with a few dairy cows. I remember watching him milk the cows (or hooking up the milking machines...) and even spraying milk to some cats who happened by. Whether or not the cats belong to his farm, I don't remember, but was a child seeing that, boy...it was pure gold.

Every time a post from Teton Valley History pops up on Facebook, I check it out. I look for familiar names, Knights, Price, Dalley, Poole. I didn't see a lot, but today in researching the site, I did a name search and checked out the photos. I found my grandfather, my great-grandparents, and my uncles. I have yet to see a photo of my mom, however. I'll keep looking.

Before my mother passed away, she compiled a family photo and history album. I have several photographs of my family going back generations. I think I'll contact the person who runs the Facebook page to see if he'd like them.

This is a photo of my great-grandparents and their steam engine car. How cool would that be to see that thing run?

Very cool.

I love seeing photos of the people of that noble valley. I don't know them, but I know they were a tough bunch, willing to endure some of the most brutal winters, but lucky enough to live in one of the most beautiful places on earth.

Give Thanks...Finding My Birth Father

For me, the past few months  have been a whirlwind, life-changing adventure. Not only did I find and speak with my birth mother in November, this year I found my dad, and even though I cannot speak with him, I've learned about the man...

Through the memories of others.

Thanks to Ancestry.Com, I connected with a second cousin on my father's side. She reached out years ago looking for lost relatives. Apparently, someone in her family was a truck driver and since joining Ancestry, they've found several "relatives" from all across the country. She wondered if I was a product of the man's, shall we say, generosity. When I reached out this time years later, I had a name, my birth father's name, and once I gave my cousin the name, the floodgates flew wide open.

She gave me her number and I called. We spoke and a world that had always been a mystery opened up to me. She told me of my father and a little about the man he was. One thing she wanted me to have was a memory book handed out at my father's funeral. A few weeks after our conversation, the book arrived. With it, a binder full of family history with pictures and stories of my father and his father and the family's adventures in Texas. Plus, story after story of my father, his career, family, and passing.

It was such a wonderful treasure to receive.

Being adopted, I find myself comparing my birth father to the father who raised me. I found the similarities striking. Both fathers served in the military. Both served in law enforcement, in fact, unlike my adoptive father, my birth father continued in law enforcement as a career. 

I found the non-similarities fascinating, too.

My birth father was an athlete. He played little league football, high school and college baseball, he golfed, coached teams, and was involved in sports all his life. My adoptive father's youth was quite different. Instead of playing sports, he was hunting food to feed his family. To be fair, I know less about my birth father's history, than the other, so I'm sure my birth father had trying times growing up during the WWII and post-war America. I've never seen a photo of my adoptive father playing sports. He was too busy with other priorities, unfortunately.

My birth father had great hair, even until the end, and made it almost to his 80s. He was loved by family and friends alike. And even though I won't meet him in this life, I'm thankful I have stories and photos of him. I'm also so very thankful that a cousin would compile a family history for me--someone she's never met--and send it to me so I will always have a knowledge of the man and a little bit about his life.

It's been an amazing couple of months.

Happy Birthday, Sis!

 Today is my sister Kim's birthday. I've been told when her birthday is before, but I forgot it. Thank goodness for social media to remind me.

For fifty-odd years I did not know I had a half-sister, but thanks to DNA technology we discovered each other. A few years ago she made the trip to Utah to visit my family. It was surreal and wonderful and strange and perfect.

Knowing I was adopted all my life and knowing both of my siblings were also adopted, I never really wanted to know about my birth parents. I didn't feel any ill will against them. I never blamed them for their decision and I never wished I could have grown up with them instead of my adoptive parents. No, I had an incredible childhood...I was truly blessed.

But, I never considered knowing others in the families. I thought about the possibility of one day meeting or finding out who my birth parents were, but the thought of half-brothers or half-sisters was not part of the equation. The adoption agency had some information about my birth parents. My birth mother had a five-year old daughter when I was born. When I first found out about my half-sister, I thought it was her. The problem was, the half-sister Kim is younger than me.

With each passing year, the chance of me actually meeting my birth parents diminishes, and that's okay. One day I'll meet them and we can have some wonderful conversations then. For now, I'm so happy I have a half-sister. She's amazing. She works with rock bands, if you can believe it. There was a time when I wanted to be in a band--maybe not as a career, but playing music was a blast. I don't think I would have made it as a rocker...I'd have to get some serious hair extensions.

Happy birthday, Kimmie! I hope this is your best year ever.

Finding A Sister...I Never Knew I Had

When you're adopted--and the adoption records are sealed--you grow up with questions, and "what ifs" and what might have beens.

I can only speak for myself, of course, but I can't imagine any adopted person not feeling this way, at least a little. For me, those feelings were always on the back-burner. Sure, they'd creep into the front of my thoughts from time to time, but my adopted family never gave me an excuse to need to find my birth family. I always thought, maybe one day, I might find those people responsible for my existence. I also thought that if I ever did come in contact with them, then it would be "meant to be."

After my mother passed more than a decade ago, those back-burner thoughts spent more time front and center. Then, for Christmas years ago my wife bought me an Ancestry.com DNA kit. I wondered if by taking the test, would questions be answered, "what ifs" figured out, might have beens realized?

I thought I might find my birth parents, or maybe their families, since my parents may no longer be living.

I never thought I'd find a sister, a sister who was also put up for adoption a few years after me, a sister who submitted a DNA test for the same reason--to find her parents, and maybe their families.

We found each other.

Last night we spent an hour texting each other for the first time. It was, in a word, fascinating. I won't include what we discussed or what we discovered--it's too personal, but even though neither of us found parents or siblings of parents, we both found another person on this big earth, people neither knew existed. It's a wonderful, surreal, exhilarating, and a little lonely experience. I'm glad we found each other--at least a couple of questions answered.