Sunday, November 1, 2026

Best of the Genea-Blogs -- Week of 25 to 31 October 2026

Scores of genealogy and family history bloggers write hundreds of posts every week about their research, their families, and their interests. I appreciate each one of them and their efforts.


My criteria for "Best of ..." are pretty simple - I pick posts that advance knowledge about genealogy and family history, address current genealogy issues, provide personal family history, are funny or are poignant. I don't list posts destined for most daily blog prompts or meme submissions (but I do include summaries of them), or my own posts.

Here are my picks for great reads from the genealogy blogs for this past week: 









Here are pick posts by other geneabloggers this week:

*  The Chiddicks Observer Edition 75 [26 October 2026] by Paul Chiddicks on Stories Behind the Records.

*  Friday’s Family History Finds [30 October 2026] by Linda Stufflebean on Empty Branches on the Family Tree.

* This week’s crème de la crème -- October 31, 2026 by Gail Dever on Genealogy a la Carte.

* GenStack [31 October 2026] by Robin Stewart on Genealogy Matters.

Readers are encouraged to go to the blogs listed above and read their articles, and add the blogs to your Favorites, Feedly, another RSS feed, or email if you like what you read. Please make a comment to them also - all bloggers appreciate feedback on what they write.

Did I miss a great genealogy blog post? Tell me! I currently am reading posts from over 900 genealogy bloggers using Feedly, but I still miss quite a few it seems.

Read past Best of the Genea-Blogs posts here.

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Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver


Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Please note that all comments are moderated and may not appear immediately.

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Genealogical Society of Santa Cruz County (GSSCC) Program on Tuesday, 3 November 2025 Features Colin Whitney

  I received this information from my friend and society colleague Gail Burk:

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Genealogical Society of Santa Cruz County (GSSCC) Lecture Series 

 Co-hosted Online by GSSCC and the Santa Cruz Public Libraries (SCPL) 

View meeting on Zoom or View In-person at Downtown Library (224 Church Street, Santa Cruz, CA 95060)
 
 To register for the Zoom meeting, please type in or click  

Tuesday, 3 November 2026 1:00 PM PST 

Guest Speaker:  Colin Whitney


"The California Pioneer Certificate
Program and Early California Records"

This presentation will briefly discuss early California events which provide the basis for this lineage program, as well as clues to the types of records available. The program will explain  
how to access different records sets and the information they provide. Attendees will learn about the features and benefits of the program. These include the 1-million record Honor Wall database to assist applicants searching for their ancestors, the Pioneer Gallery with a searchable database,  and assistance available through monthly online workshops.

Colin Whitney was born in London, England, and emigrated to the United States in the 1960s to study at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where he received a Ph.D. in physics and a professorship in the Electrical Engineering Department. His research interests brought him to California; he has presented technical papers across the globe. Since retirement Colin has been active in the San Diego Genealogical Society where he serves on the Board and in several special interest groups. Colin has authored numerous genealogical papers, presented programs at many genealogical conferences, and is the founder and chairperson of the California Pioneer  Certificate Program.

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The URL for this post is:  https://www.geneamusings.com/2026/11/genealogical-society-of-santa-cruz.html

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on Twitter, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.  All comments are moderated, and may not be posted immediately.

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Betty and Fred’s Story: Building A Life Together – Winter Words -- Early 1945

  Here is the latest chapter in the story of the married life and times of my parents, Fred and Betty (Carringer) Seaver, who married in July 1942. The background information and the list of chapters of their life together are listed at the end of this post.  This is historical fiction with real people and real events, and is how it might have been.

And now we are up to January 1945, now three years into World War II.  Betty and Randy are living with Betty's parents, and Fred is in the U.S. Navy assigned to the Fleet Post Office in San Francisco.  Fred has settled into the rhythm of work, and Betty is now working full-time again. It's the new year.

(AI Google Gemini Notebook Infographic - Betty and Fred's Story, Early 1945)

Based on the biographies and the earlier stories, I asked Anthropic Claude Sonnet 5 to tell another story - what happened next (I offered some suggestions!)?  

Betty and Fred’s Story:  Winter Words, Early 1945

San Francisco, New Year's Eve 1944

The last night of the year was a Sunday, and Fred had it off.

He took the bus across the bridge in the early evening with two men from the sorting tables, the schoolteacher from Ohio and the streetcar conductor from Oakland, and the three of them walked up Market Street into a crowd. Downtown San Francisco was packed with sailors and soldiers and girls in good coats, all of them out to see the old year off, and the noise rolled up the street in waves. There was music spilling out of doorways and a line outside every restaurant. The wartime rules had dimmed the lights, but nobody on Market Street seemed to notice.

They ate a hurried supper at a lunch counter, walked through Union Square with their collars turned up against the fog, and stood a while watching the crowd go by. Fred bought the other two a round of coffee at a crowded café and let them argue about where the next landing in the Pacific would be. Nobody could tell. Somewhere around eleven the street filled so tightly that the three of them were carried along with it, and at midnight the whistles and horns and church bells went off all at once, and men were shaking hands and thumping each other's backs and kissing whichever girl stood nearest.

Fred shook hands with the schoolteacher and the conductor and said Happy New Year, and meant it. Then he stood a moment at the edge of the crowd with his hand on the photo wallet in his pocket. It was 1945, and he thought of Betty asleep or awake on Fern Street, and of Randy, and he hoped, simply and without any particular words, that it would be the last year of the war.

The Fleet Post Office, January–February 1945

The new year settled into the old routine as if it had never been interrupted.

Reveille, shower, dress, make the bunk. Breakfast, the bus, the tables. Lunch, the tables, dinner, the bus, a little free time, lights out. Six days a week, week after week, the canvas bags came in and the canvas bags went out, and Fred's hands knew the routing codes by now the way they knew the shape of a pencil. The Christmas rush thinned, but it never quite stopped. There was always more.

The talk at the tables followed the war. In January the news from the Pacific came in quick bursts: the big landings at Lingayen Gulf in the Philippines, the push toward Manila, the long columns of ships on the front pages. In Europe the Germans had been thrown back out of the Ardennes, and the Russians were driving hard across Poland. Every man at the tables had a theory about how much longer it could last, and every theory was longer than the last one. The petty officer from Boston had stopped joining the arguments. He simply said that the mail would be there, and that was all.

On one of his January liberty days Fred took the bus out to see the Golden Gate Bridge. He had crossed the Bay Bridge twice a day for months and had never seen the other one close up. The bus left him near the southern end, and he walked out onto the bridge in a cold wind, with the water a long way below and the orange towers rising into a low fog. A freighter moved out under the span toward the open sea. He stood at the railing and watched it go, and tried not to think too hard about which ocean it was headed for. He wondered if he would ever be on one of the ships heading out into the Pacific. Then he turned and walked back, with his collar up and his hands in his pockets, and thought that when the war was over he would bring Betty here, and Randy, and show them.

In the first week of February, with Valentine's Day on the calendar and the memory of last year still in his mind, he sat on his bunk one night with a pencil and tried to write her a poem. It took him three evenings. He crossed out more than he kept. Fred was an engineer, and words did not come to him the way figures did, but he wanted her to have something that was not from a store counter. When he finally had it right, he copied it out neatly, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope with a letter.

He wrote a second letter that night, to Lyle.

Dear Lyle,

I have a favor to ask. Valentine's Day is on the fourteenth, and I'd like Betty to have flowers that morning. I can't send them from here, and I wouldn't trust the florist on this end to get them there on time. Would you pick up a bouquet on your way home from the store and give it to her from me? Whatever it costs, I'll make good. A small card is enclosed. Please don't tell her it was my idea until she's seen it.

Thank you for everything, Lyle. For the garage, for the room at Fern Street, for looking after the two of them. I think about it every day.

Sincerely, Fred

Fern Street, January–February 1945

Betty had never been so busy, and she had never minded less.

She taught five days a week now and thought about it on the other two. Her classroom at Memorial Junior High had become hers, down to the arrangement of the desks and the pots of ivy on the windowsill. The stack of papers on the kitchen table every evening had become a fixture. After Randy was in bed, she sat with a red pencil and the lamp, reading essays about dogs and ships and what the writer wanted to be when he grew up. It was a good kind of tired.

In early February she gave her English classes an assignment for Valentine's Day. She asked each student to write a poem for his or her mother. Some of the children groaned. Some wrote four clumsy lines in ten minutes. But a few wrote something that made her stop and read it twice. A boy who rarely spoke in class wrote about his mother's hands, rough from the washtub. A girl wrote about a kitchen at night, with the radio on and her mother waiting up. The poems went home, and the next week, several mothers stopped Betty on the street to thank her.

For her art classes she thought of something different. She asked each student to make a line drawing of his or her father, from memory or from a photograph. The room fell quiet in a way she had learned to treasure. She walked the aisles while the children worked. Many of the fathers were in uniform. Some were on ships she could not name. A few of the children simply drew a chair at a table, or a pair of boots by a door, or a hat on a peg, and she did not ask them to explain. When the drawings were finished, she pinned them along the back wall of the classroom, a row of faces and empty chairs, and stood looking at them a long time after the bell had rung.

At home, Randy was learning to talk, and the whole house had become his audience.

He walked now with confidence, and he ran, in a lurching way, whenever he thought somebody might be about to catch him. His new words came every day, and each one was announced to the room. Austin was "Pa-pa," and the old man, now ninety-one, glowed every time he heard it. Georgia was "Na-na." Emily was "Gam," and Lyle was "Gamp," which made Lyle laugh out loud the first time he heard it and say that he rather liked the sound of it. Betty was "Ma-ma," and when she held up Fred's photograph, Randy pointed at it and said "Da-da" very clearly, and she had to turn away to hide her face.

His newest trick was flowers. Every afternoon he trundled into the backyard with Georgia and came back with three flowers, picked with enormous seriousness and held out in a small fist. He had a flower for Georgia, a flower for Emily, and a flower for Betty. The garden began to show gaps. Nobody cared.

On the morning of the fourteenth, Lyle came to the kitchen before work with a bouquet of fresh flowers wrapped in paper. He set it on the table in front of Betty and, with a small, solemn bow, said that he had been instructed to deliver it. There was a card. She read it, and read it again, and Emily quietly took Randy out of the room.

Betty had a poem of her own for Fred, written the week before at the kitchen table after Randy had gone to bed. She had crossed out as much as he had. It was in an envelope on the hall table, waiting for the morning mail.

Letters, Mid-February 1945

Fred's Valentine's Day poem and letter to Betty:

For Betty

The fog comes in across the bay,
The bridge goes dim, the day grows gray,
And still I keep, wherever I roam,
Your picture close, a piece of home.

The sorting tables hum and sway,
The bags go out, the bags give way,
But under every task I do
Runs one clear thought: it's you.

No ship or sea can set me far
Beyond the reach of your bright star;
And when this long hard road is through,
My heart goes home to you.

Dear Betty,

Happy Valentine's Day, my darling. I tried to write you a poem. It took me three nights, which is a good deal longer than it takes me to size a nacelle, and it is not nearly as good. But every word of it is true.

I asked your father to see that you got some flowers this morning. I hope they came. I hope the day was a good one. I think about you and Randy more than I can say.

Tell me everything about school. Tell me about the drawings and the poems. And tell me everything Randy has said since I last wrote. I'm waiting for the word.

All my love, Fred

Betty's Valentine's Day poem and letter to Fred:

For Fred

The garden's cold, the nights are long,
But I still hum our favorite song,
And Randy points your picture's way
And says your name a dozen times a day.

I teach the children, draw, and write,
And wait for letters every night,
And fold each line so close and true
It feels as though I'm holding you.

Come home to us across the sea,
To this small house and family;
For every hour that I'm apart,
You're still the place that holds my heart.

Dear Fred,

Your flowers came. Dad brought them to the kitchen before work, with a solemn little bow, and I read the card and had to leave the room. Thank you. They are in the best vase on the dining room table, and Mother says they will last a week.

Your poem is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever written me. I've read it a dozen times. I've put it in my dresser drawer with your other letters, and I'll read it again tonight. I've enclosed one of my own. It is not as good as yours, but you will know it's true.

Fred, he said it! He said "Da-da" when I held up your photograph. He points and says it, over and over, as if he's introducing you. He says "Ma-ma," "Pa-pa" for Austin, "Na-na" for Nana, "Gam" for Mother, and "Gamp" for Dad. That's a good deal for sixteen months. He picks a flower every afternoon for me, for Mother, and for Georgia. The garden has begun to show it.

At school I had my English classes write Valentine poems for their mothers, and my art classes draw their fathers. It was the finest hour of the year. Many of the fathers are away. I pinned the drawings along the back wall, and I could not look at them without thinking of you.

Come home when you can. We love you.

All my love, Betty

The letters passed in the mail, as they always did. Betty's reached Treasure Island on a gray afternoon in the third week of February, and Fred read it at the end of the shift, standing by his locker. He read the part about Randy twice. Then he read the poem, and sat down on the edge of his bunk, and put it in the photo wallet next to the pictures of the two people he loved most, where it fit as if it had always belonged there.

Fred's letter reached Fern Street on a Thursday. Betty read it at the kitchen table and then held up Fred's photograph for Randy, who looked at it with great seriousness, pointed, and said, quite clearly, "Da-da."

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Here is the Google Notebook Video Overview about this time in Betty, Fred and Randy's lives in early 1945 (also on my YouTube channel):  

This story is historical fiction based on real people -- my parents, grandparents, and me -- and a real event in a real place. I don't know the full story of these events -- but this is how it might have been. I hope that it was at least this good! Claude is such a good storywriter! I added some details and corrected some errors in Claude's initial version.

Stay tuned for the next chapter in this family story.

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The AI-assisted ABC Biography of my mother, Betty Virginia (Carringer) Seaver, is in ABC Biography of #3 Betty Virginia (Carringer) Seaver (1919-2002) of San Diego, California. I also  wrote Betty's Story: The First-Year Art Teacher about the start of her teaching career.

The AI-assisted ABC Biography of my father, Frederick Walton Seaver, is in ABC Biography of #2 Frederick Walton Seaver Jr. (1911-1983) of Massachusetts and San Diego, California.  I also wrote Fred's Story: The Three-Day Cross-Country Escape  and Fred's Story: "I Need A Girl" about him coming to San Diego, and wanting a girlfriend.

Here are the previous chapters in this story:

                           ==============================================

Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page. Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver


Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post.  Share it on Twitter, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below.  Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.  Please note that all comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately.

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Saturday, October 31, 2026

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun -- An Ancestor Who Had A Life Event on Hallowe'en

 Calling all Genea-Musings Fans: 

 It's Saturday Night again - 

time for some more Genealogy Fun!!



Here is your assignment if you choose to play along (cue the Mission Impossible music, please!):

1)  Find an ancestor who has a life event (e.g, born, baptized, married, died or buried) on Hallowe'en (31 October).

2)  Tell us about him or her -- who were his or her parents, spouses, children, occupation, residences, etc. 

3)  Share your selected ancestor,  the historical life event, and your description of your ancestor in your own blog post, or in a comment on this blog post, or write a Substack post, Facebook Note, or in some other social media system.  Please leave a comment with a link on this post so others can find it.

NOTE:  No luck?  How about a relative?  Or a famous person? 

Here's mine:

I ran an "On This Date" report in RootsMagic 12 (Publish > On This Date), and it provided nine pages (over 300 events single-spaced) of profiles in my database for life events on October 31.

My most recent ancestor who had a life event on October 31 is my great-grandfather, Charles Auble (1849-1916).   

Charles was born 31 October 1849 in Newark, Essex County, New Jersey, the third child (of six) and second son (of two) to David and Sarah (Knapp) Auble.  His family moved to Terre Haute, Vigo County, Indiana in about 1865. In about 1890, Charles moved to Chicago, Illinois. Charles married Geoegianna Kemp (1868-1952) on 19 June 1898 in Milwaukee, Milwaukee County, Wisconsin.  They resided in Chicago, Cook County, Illinois, and had one child, my grandmother Emily Kemp Auble (1899-1977).  In 1911, the Auble family moved to San Diego, California. Charles Auble died 23 March 1916 in San Diego, San Diego County, California. He is buried in Mount Hope Cemetery in San Diego without a headstone or marker. He was employed as a house painter and decorator.



I think that Charles gave me my hairline...

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The URL for this post is:  https://www.geneamusings.com/2026/10/saturday-night-genealogy-fun-ancestor_01536364843.html

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Note that all comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately.

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Oldie But Goodie -- Hallowe'en Name Whacking

 NOTE:  This is a repeat blog post from 31 October 2020.  It mentions the RootsWeb WorldConnect family tree database which was user-contributed over several decades and was scratched from the Internet by Ancestry.com in recent years.  Alas, many of the links from years past do not work any longer.

The Ancestry.com article about retirement of RootsWeb WorldConnect from April 2023 says:

"WorldConnect family trees (last updated on 9 August 2021) will be retired on 15 April 2023 and migrated to Ancestry as a new free-access collection later in the year. For help removing a tree or its content, contact us."

Apparently, WorldConnect did not return after 2020.  Oh well! 

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There are a number of families in the Rootsweb WorldConnect database at   https://wc.rootsweb.com/search  that have surnames connected to Hallowe'en. For instance:

1) The GHOST surname - there are many entries, including the descendants of Philip Ghost of Westmoreland County PA. It looks like at least one GHOST from this family is still living.


2) The GOBLIN surname - It looks like there are no real GOBLIN family trees - only isolated GOBLIN women who married men with other surnames.

3) The SKELETON surname - there are hundreds of entries but few trees with many generations. Methinks these are mostly misspelled SKELTON people.

4) The FRANKENSTEIN surname - There are many entries, and most of them are of German origin. One family that settled in Rochester NY is here. There is one Frank N. Stein here.

5) The WITCH surname - there are some entries, but no long family lines in the database. Some of those listed were accused of witchcraft.

6) The PUMPKIN surname - there are some entries, but no long family lines.  There are also hundreds of  entries for a given name of PUMPKIN.

7) The HAUNT surname - there are only a few entries, none with a family line.  There are a few persons with the first name of HAUNT.

8) The SPOOK surname - there are dozens entries, and only one with a three generation family. There are smoe entries for people with a given name of Spook and some for the first name of Spooky (at least one dog!)

9) The GHOUL surname - there are dozens of entries.

10) The JACKO surname has hundreds of entries, and there are dozens of entries with a given name of Jacko.

11) The LANTERN surname has hundreds entries. But there are no people named Jack O. Lantern, but 4a fewentries with Jack Lantern.

12) There are hundreds of CAT surname entries and thousands of  CATT entries. There is one Rin Black Cat name, which died in 2006 in Uncle Brick's barn.

13) There are some SCARY surname entries - many of them still living. There are dozens of entries for a given name of Scary.

14) There are dozens of  DRACULA surname entries, many of them are related to The Count. There are some entries for a given name of DRACULA.

15) There are hundreds of CEMETERY entries, some of them the name of actual cemetery databases.

16)  There are thousands of GRAVE surname entries, and tens of thousands of  GRAVES surname entries.  There are a few entries for the name Robin Graves.

17)  There are tens of thousands of entries for the surname COFFIN.

18) There are thousands of MONSTER entries. No Monster Mash, though (there are thousands of surname entries for MASH). There are no "Boris Pickett" persons, but there are some entries for BOBBY PICKETT.

19) There are hundreds of SKULL surname entries.

20) There are scores of SPIRIT entries. There are a few entries for a Holy Spirit with a spouse named Mary, with a child.

21) There are hundreds of thousands of surname entries for WEBB, but only a few entries for "Spider WEBB" (all nicknames)

22) There are hundreds of entries for SCREECH surname. And dozens of entries for a given name or nickname of Screech.

23) There are a few entries for HALLOWEEN surname - even a Mary Halloween.  There are dozens of given name entries for HALLOWEEN (including maiden names).

24) There are no VAMPIRE surname entries, and a few given name entries.

25) There are thousands of BROOM surname entries.

26) There are scores of  BAT surname entries, thousands of BATT surname entries and thousands of BATTY surname entries.  There are hundreds of entries for BATTY as a given name.

27) There are no ZOMBIE surname entries or given name entries. Whew!

28)  There are thousands of entries for the surname BLOOD.

29)  The surname DEATH has thousands of entries.

30)  The TRICK surname has thousands of surname entries and TREAT surname has tens of thousands of entries!  There are some given name entries for Tricky, but no Tricky Treat.

31)  The surname WARLOCK has some entries, but there are a few given name entries. 

32)  There are a few surname entries for WEREWOLF, both married to the same Lucky guy!

33)  There are hundreds of surname entries for BOO, and hundreds of  given name entries for BOO, and dozes of entries named Booboo.

34)  There are a few surname entries for GREMLIN.

Enough!! What other Hallowe'en oriented surnames can you think of? 

John D. Reid posted some Hallowe'en names and occupations  in Halloween fun from Ancestry.ca in 2009.

John Newmark had some Hallowe'en names in Friday Five in 2007.

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The URL for this post is:  https://www.geneamusings.com/2026/10/oldie-but-goodie-halloween-name-whacking.html

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post.  Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below.  Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.
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A Hallowe’en Reunion Story – The Seaver Families

 Last year, I asked ChatGPT to provide ten Hallowe'en story ideas in A Hallowe'en Ancestor Reunion Story.  I used #9 "The Moonlight Reunion" for my Carringer line and was not disappointed.

Milking a good idea, I decided to do the same story idea this year for my Seaver line. I listed my 12 generations of Seaver ancestors, and their spouses, from Robert Seaver (1608-1683) to myself, and asked ChatGPT5 to tell the Moonlight Reunion story for my Seaver line.


(AI OpenAI ChatGPT5 Infographic - The Seaver Hallwe'en Moonlight Reunion)

Here is the Seaver Hallowe'en Moonlight Reunion Story:

The Moonlight Reunion of the Seaver Family

On Halloween night in 2026, the moon rose over Roxbury, Massachusetts, nearly four centuries after the first Seaver in this particular line had walked its streets. Randy Seaver had come to the old neighborhood alone. At least, that was what he thought.

He stood beneath an October moon with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking at the old houses, the trees, and the streets that had changed beyond recognition since colonial times. Somewhere beneath the modern city was the ground where his ancestors had lived, worked, married, raised children, worried about money, celebrated good harvests, buried their dead, and wondered what the future would bring.

Randy knew their names. He knew an astonishing number of their dates. He knew where many of them had lived and who they had married. He had followed them through town records, church records, probate files, deeds, censuses, newspapers, photographs and family stories. But he had never met any of them except his parents and grandmother.

That was about to change. Randy looked up at the moon.

"Robert Seaver," he whispered. Nothing happened. "Elizabeth Ballard." The wind stirred the leaves.

"Shubael Seaver. Hannah Wilson." A distant church bell sounded.

"Joseph Seaver. Mary Read." The moon seemed to brighten.

"Robert Seaver. Eunice Rayment." And then the air changed.

It became strangely quiet. The traffic disappeared. The sounds of modern Roxbury faded away. The leaves stopped moving. Even Randy's own breathing seemed unusually loud. Then, from somewhere behind him, came the sound of footsteps.

Randy turned. An elderly man in seventeenth-century clothing was walking toward him. He carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to hard work and uncertain times. Beside him walked a woman in a simple colonial dress. The man stopped a few feet away. "Are you the one who called us?"

Randy stared. "Robert?"

The man smiled. "Robert Seavah."

Randy laughed. "I knew it was you!"

Elizabeth Ballard looked at him curiously. "You know us?"

"I've spent years trying to find out about you."

Robert glanced at Elizabeth. "Apparently, we have become quite interesting."

"You have no idea," Randy replied. And then the reunion began.

Behind Robert and Elizabeth came another couple.

Shubael Seaver and Hannah Wilson. Shubael looked around at the strange modern surroundings. "What has become of Roxbury?"

Randy smiled. "A great deal."

Shubael looked at the buildings, the pavement and the distant lights. "And our farm?"

"Long gone."

"And our house?"

"Long gone."

Shubael considered this. "But the family?"

Randy nodded. "Still here."

Hannah smiled. "Then perhaps not everything has changed."

More figures appeared. Joseph Seaver and Mary Read. Then Robert Seaver and Eunice Rayment. Then Norman Seaver and Sarah Read.

With every generation, the gathering grew larger. The older Seavers looked at the younger ones with astonishment. They recognized something in their faces—the shape of an eye, the tilt of a head, a familiar smile. Randy suddenly realized that this was what genealogists rarely get to see. They could find relationships on paper. They could draw connecting lines between names. But here, those lines had become people. People who were looking back at him.

The next couple stepped forward. Benjamin Seaver and Martha Whitney.

Benjamin studied Randy carefully. "You are descended from us?"

"Yes. I am your 5th great-grandson"

"How many generations?"

Randy began counting. "Quite a few."

Benjamin laughed. "That is not an answer."

Randy pointed toward the people standing behind him. "Keep following the line."

Benjamin turned. There stood Benjamin Seaver and Abigail Gates. Then Isaac Seaver and Lucretia Smith.

Isaac looked at Randy. "Are you one of my descendants?"

"I am. Your second-great-grandson."

Isaac smiled. "Then come here."

Randy stepped forward. Isaac reached out his hand. For a moment Randy hesitated. Then he took it. The hand felt warm. Not ghostly. Not cold. Just human.

Randy swallowed hard. "I've seen your picture."

Isaac smiled. "And I have heard your stories."

Randy laughed. "Well, that's not quite possible."

"Perhaps not," Isaac said. "But tonight seems to be an unusual night."

Then came Frank Walton Seaver and Hattie Hildreth. Frank looked at the gathering and shook his head. "There's quite a crowd."

"You should see my family tree," Randy replied.

Frank laughed. "I suspect we are only a small branch."

"You have no idea."

Next came Frederick Walton Seaver and Alma Bessie Richmond. Frederick looked at the people around him and then at Randy. "So this is what became of us."

Randy nodded. "This."

Frederick looked pleased. "Not bad." Bessie reached for his hand. "Don't be too proud of yourself."

The older generations laughed. For the first time that evening, Randy realized something important. His ancestors weren't standing around like statues. They were teasing one another. They were laughing. They were doing what families have always done.

Then the crowd grew quiet. A younger man appeared. Frederick Walton Seaver Jr. Randy recognized him immediately. His father. For Randy, the centuries suddenly disappeared. He was no longer standing in colonial Roxbury. He was a little boy again. He looked at his father. "Hi, Dad."

Fred smiled. "Hello, son."

Randy looked at the generations behind his father and grandfather. "Do you know all these people?"

Fred chuckled. "Only two of them personally."

"Neither did I."

Fred looked around. "Apparently we're all related."

Randy laughed. "That's generally how family, and genealogy, works."

Then Fred reached out his hand. Randy took it. And for a moment, father and son simply stood together beneath the Halloween moon.

Then another figure appeared. A woman. Randy knew her face before he heard her name. Betty Carringer Seaver.

His mother. She walked toward him, smiling. "Mom, dear Mom," Randy said.

"Hello, Randy." He looked at her for a long moment. "I've been telling your story for years."

"I know."

"You've been reading my blog?"

Betty laughed. "I've had plenty of time."

Randy smiled. Then he introduced her to the Seaver ancestors. "Mother, this is Robert Seaver."

She looked at the colonial man. "Hello, Robert."

"Elizabeth Ballard."

"Hello, Elizabeth."

And so the introductions continued.

A family separated by nearly four hundred years suddenly became one enormous circle.

At last, Randy stood at the end of the line. Beside him was his wife, Linda Leland.

Randy looked around. Robert and Elizabeth. Shubael and Hannah. Joseph and Mary. Robert and Eunice. Norman and Sarah. Benjamin and Martha. Benjamin and Abigail. Isaac and Lucretia. Frank and Hattie. Frederick and Bessie. Fred and Betty. And finally Randy and Linda.

Twelve generations. Twenty-four people. One family.

Randy took Linda's hand. Then he reached for his mother's hand. Betty took Fred's hand. The family wasn't arranged in a simple chain anymore. It was a great web.

Spouses stood beside spouses. Parents stood beside children. Brothers and sisters gathered together. Children appeared from the darkness, laughing and running between the adults. The Seaver family had become a crowd. A very large crowd.

Randy looked at them and said, "I wish I had photographs of all of you."

Robert smiled. "You have something better."

"What?"

"You remember us."

Someone produced an apple. Someone else found a basket. Soon the colonial Seavers were comparing apples with their nineteenth-century descendants, while twentieth-century Seavers tried to explain Halloween candy.

"What is a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?" Norman asked.

Randy handed him one. Norman took a bite. His eyes widened. "I believe the future has some advantages."

Everyone laughed. Even Robert. Even Elizabeth. And Randy thought that perhaps this was what the dead had wanted all along. Not monuments. Not statues. Not elaborate memorials. Just to be remembered. To have their names spoken. To have someone care enough to ask:

Who were you? Where did you live? Whom did you love? What did you do with your life? And most importantly: Did anyone remember you?

Near midnight, Randy noticed that the moon was beginning to sink. The gathering slowly became quieter. The oldest generations began fading first. Robert and Elizabeth stood together. Shubael and Hannah beside them. Joseph and Mary. Robert and Eunice. Norman and Sarah. One by one, the generations began disappearing into the moonlight.

Randy held his mother's hand. "Don't go yet."

Betty smiled. "We're not really going anywhere."

Fred put a hand on Randy's shoulder. "You're carrying us with you."

Randy looked at the long line of Seavers stretching backward through time. "I'll keep telling your stories."

"We know," Betty said.

"And I'll keep looking for the ones we don't know yet."

Isaac smiled. "That's why you are here."

The final figures faded. Soon Randy stood alone with Linda beneath the October moon. The modern sounds of Roxbury slowly returned. A car passed. A dog barked. Leaves rustled in the night air.

Linda squeezed his hand. "Are you all right?"

Randy smiled. "I'm fine."

He looked back toward the darkness. "I just met the family."

And as he and Linda walked to their hotel, Randy realized that his family tree no longer looked like a collection of names, dates and sources. It looked like a long procession of people walking through history.

People who had lived. People who had loved. People who had struggled. People who had raised children. People who had grown old. People who had died. And people who, for one magical Halloween night in 2026, had come home.

The Seavers were together again. And this time, Randy had finally met them all.

=====================================

My eyes are full...I am a sentimentalist, and ChatGPT5 knows it.

I wish I could have a dream like this with, especially, my Seaver and Carringer ancestral families.

Here is the AI Google Gemini Notebook video overview for this story (and on my YouTube channel):

I know the Infographic is imperfect - the ancestors look pretty much the same, and I could try to make ChatGPT5 use my real photograph. But I love the concept.

NOTE: Feel free to use any of ChatGPT5's suggested story lines - just give ChatGPT some information about some of your ancestors or situations and see what it writes for you.

==============================================

2024's AI-assisted Hallowe'en poems, images and a song are in A Genealogist's Hallowe'en Tricks and Treats From Artificial Intelligence. Here's the song, titled "A Family Hallowe'en.":


                               ==============================================

Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page.  Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver


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