We have returned from a family reunion in Arkansas where our roots run almost as deep as they do in Texas. This was the 44th consecutive reunion since 1926 held every other year.

It was not well attended, but for the handful who made the effort, it was rich in buried treasure as we stood among our kindred dead.

Before you go thinking we were doing some zombie apocalypse thing, we were not. There were no shovels involved in this reunion except when it got a little deep around the table at the evening meal.

No one in the group drank a drop of alcohol the entire time, so the bull around the table was genuine, unadulterated lying, or very good story telling, depending on your perspective.

No, the only thing we dug up were memories and treasure.

My most treasured moment from the event is when the Princesses stood between the head stones of their great-great-great-great grandparents representing six generations.

You could sense and almost see the presence of a long line of our ancestors receding into the dim past.

It wasn’t as clear, but you could imagine the generations to come and where we stood in that line, and how someday they would look to us as we look to those giants on whose shoulders we stand.

We have been fortunate to trace our lineage back to the 1100s where our name was first used in old English, but what was amazing to us as we compared notes, is how many gaps we have about those on the periphery.

The one that puzzled us the most is what happened to my great-great-grandfather’s first daughter.

When he came home from the Civil War after having been imprisoned in the North for many months, he found his wife had taken up with another man and had had a child by him.

They sat down, and divided up their meager possessions, he keeping the girl who was his blood, she the boy, her blood.

She rode off, never to be heard from again on the last horse my progenitor had stolen in a long line of thefts to be able to return to his freedom from captivity. This we all know because we have his Civil War journals.

We also know he went to medical school after his return and remarried, having ten children, the second oldest being my great-grandfather. We know all this because he wrote it down, so we know it happened, a most important point. What we don’t know is what happened to that little girl, his first child. She does not appear in any of the family photos after his second marriage, nor is her birth recorded in the family Bible.

With the aid of modern technology, the internet, and the use of apps such as Billion Graves, we found a picture of her headstone and its location. The shame is that she is buried in the same cemetery as the aforementioned forbearers. She is just steps from their graves. We never knew.

We stood with heads bowed, feeling mixed emotions. Joy in that we now had a wealth of information about her, and shame that it has taken all this time to find her. We all wondered how many more like her are lost and waiting.

Two things were made clear to us.

First, keep a journal and a personal history. You too will have great-great-grandchildren someday, and they are going to want to know who you are, how you lived, and what happened to you.

Secondly, chase down your dead. Let the spirit of Elijah work through you as the hearts of the children turn to the fathers, while their hearts turn to you.

Dig deep, and happy hunting.

David Wilson Atwood is a local writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted, at: www.starchasers.us, or david@starchasers.us