The history of family started back before you or I were born, back before history was recorded, before ink and pen, somewhere amongst a mother's arms and a father's kiss, somewhere in the middle of a heart and soul.
My father's and my mother's parents came from the Azores, the islands off of Portugal.
The history of my family took place over many fields, farmland, and prayer. I never thought about it before, but the long row of fences that surround the fields remind me of the rosaries dangled between my grandparents and parents hands.
Faith rooted them.
A photo of my grandparent's barn that was framed from wood from their barn.
A bird's nest.
The morning hour.
Farm animals in a row.
Details of the entrance to my childhood home.
One after another.
My oldest niece Patti.
Names use to tell us where we were from. Patti is not a Portuguese name. Chelsea is not a French name.
Alfonso was the first name in the book containing our family history dating back to the 1500s. Had I known that would I have named Sacha Alfonso?
Twelve years ago we went to the Azores island that my family was from.
The above photo is of Sacha standing in front of the massive stone wall fences that surrounded the fields.
My grandfathers walked along those walls. My grandmothers did not know that their great-grand son would one day lean upon them as their grand-daughter took his photo.
Uncle Phil (My Father's sister's husband) and my cousin Julie (Sacha's Godmother) and Aunt Ann (my dad's youngest sister) and my cousin Judy.
My nieces Gina, Patti, Kate, Marie, Molly, Maci and blessed is he among women: George.
My youngest brother Zane with his daughter Molly.
My brother's Mat wife Shelley and their daughter Marie.
Three of my brothers.
Father McGoldrick, my cousins-godparents, Craig and Mary, and my father standing on his tip toes to catch the moment. My mother took the photo.
Family you are where I am.
Our history is within us, being watered by our lives, our thoughts, our being together, our choices, our faith in one another.