Memorial Day several years ago, I was showing my children where some of our ancestors were buried and I realized that I only knew where some of them were. So I started looking and I guess I just haven't stopped.Recently I stood in the Albion (Idaho) Mormon Cemetery and looked at the graves of my Great-great-grandparents Joseph Freeman Phippen and Eliza Jane Hudson Phippen. Next to them are my Great-grandparents Wilford Freeman Phippen and Emma Louise Williams Phippen. Also there is a stone marker for a 4 year old child.Having thought of these people and read of them so many times, as I finally stood there in that cemetery looking at the stones marking their resting places, I was overcome with emotion. Tears came to my eyes. I thought of the journey these individuals had made over the years. For Joseph Freeman Phippen, he came from New York and Ohio to Nauvoo, Illinois. Then across to Winter Quarters. Family members were laid to rest in Nauvoo including a brother accidentally shot in the Nauvoo Town Square while standing guard with the Nauvoo Legion. Children died at Winter Quarters. On to Utah, moving from one town to another, setting up saw mills in so many different places. A wife and other children died. Then he married a second wife 22 years younger than himself and a whole second family of seven children. Finally a move to Albion, Idaho where the last of those seven children was born and died at just 4 years old. They farmed and then finished their lives and were buried in that small little town.So I stood there that afternoon and thought of them. I was glad and humbled to be standing there, finally. I was glad for their example, for their lives. And for my heritage. And that is just one of the stories in my own personal history.I was talking to a very helpful office worker at the Salt Lake City Cemetery the other day and ended up sharing (briefly) some of the personal stories of the people we were looking up. I apologized, not wanting to take up her day with story telling, but then I thought for a moment and, pointing out the door, I said, "There are 120,000 stories out there." She agreed and said she didn't mind hearing the stories.I guess my inspiration comes from these words that I thought of one day.....ALL THAT MARKS MY PASSINGWhat is there of any one of us to mark our passing through this life? For some there is no stone, for some there is no story. Doing this work is all about remembering and honoring those who have gone before.All these people who paved the way for me. So many stories. So many lives lived.It is truly humbling.Thanks for contributing and adding to the memories. Thanks for remembering.

Memorial Day several years ago, I was showing my children where some of our ancestors were buried and I realized that I only knew where some of them were. So I started looking and I guess I just haven't stopped.Recently I stood in the Albion (Idaho) Mormon Cemetery and looked at the graves of my Great-great-grandparents Joseph Freeman Phippen and Eliza Jane Hudson Phippen. Next to them are my Great-grandparents Wilford Freeman Phippen and Emma Louise Williams Phippen. Also there is a stone marker for a 4 year old child.Having thought of these people and read of them so many times, as I finally stood there in that cemetery looking at the stones marking their resting places, I was overcome with emotion. Tears came to my eyes. I thought of the journey these individuals had made over the years. For Joseph Freeman Phippen, he came from New York and Ohio to Nauvoo, Illinois. Then across to Winter Quarters. Family members were laid to rest in Nauvoo including a brother accidentally shot in the Nauvoo Town Square while standing guard with the Nauvoo Legion. Children died at Winter Quarters. On to Utah, moving from one town to another, setting up saw mills in so many different places. A wife and other children died. Then he married a second wife 22 years younger than himself and a whole second family of seven children. Finally a move to Albion, Idaho where the last of those seven children was born and died at just 4 years old. They farmed and then finished their lives and were buried in that small little town.So I stood there that afternoon and thought of them. I was glad and humbled to be standing there, finally. I was glad for their example, for their lives. And for my heritage. And that is just one of the stories in my own personal history.I was talking to a very helpful office worker at the Salt Lake City Cemetery the other day and ended up sharing (briefly) some of the personal stories of the people we were looking up. I apologized, not wanting to take up her day with story telling, but then I thought for a moment and, pointing out the door, I said, "There are 120,000 stories out there." She agreed and said she didn't mind hearing the stories.I guess my inspiration comes from these words that I thought of one day.....ALL THAT MARKS MY PASSINGWhat is there of any one of us to mark our passing through this life? For some there is no stone, for some there is no story. Doing this work is all about remembering and honoring those who have gone before.All these people who paved the way for me. So many stories. So many lives lived.It is truly humbling.Thanks for contributing and adding to the memories. Thanks for remembering.