Recently, my family and I were on vacation. It was a beautiful, no agenda kind of trip: a rare escape where I hadn’t planned to do any genealogy research at all. I didn’t pack my bag of wonders: that familiar, well-loved bag I usually keep with me at all times, ready for the unexpected research opportunities life loves to throw my way.
This, in itself, was unusual for me. I’m typically the kind of traveler who has a portable archive at arm’s reach: a notebook, a scanner, a few carefully folded family group sheets, and maybe a magnifying glass or two. I like to be prepared for the backroads that call to me, where I can feel my ancestors walking just a few steps ahead.
But this trip was supposed to be different. It was for family time. For freedom. For resting my often too busy mind.
Yet, as we drove through some of the counties and towns where I could feel my ancestors’ footprints pressing just beneath the surface, my research instincts stirred like a familiar breeze. I passed historical societies, local libraries, and little hilltop cemeteries that practically beckoned me to pull over. Every fiber of my being wanted to stop and follow those threads.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t even bring it up to my family because I already knew the look I’d get. The loving, but bewildered glance from people who just don’t feel that magnetic pull toward the past. Not everyone understands the deep ache to know, to chase, to search.
Instead, I stayed in the moment with my family. We relaxed. We laughed. We wandered new places with no agendas except to enjoy each other’s company. It was beautiful. It was exactly what I needed, even if part of my heart was still leaning toward those unvisited archives.
As a full-time working mom, wife, volunteer, contributing author, and dedicated sports mom (you’ll find me at every game, cheering loudly), there are few spaces in my life that feel entirely free. Entirely mine. Often, my moments of calm come during quiet drives home, my arm resting out the window, the breeze cooling the last golden bits of daylight, and my mind wandering toward peaceful cemetery walks and the call of my ancestors.
Several days into our trip, something surprising happened.
My husband suggested a day trip to nearby Frankfort, Kentucky, and gently offered, “Why don’t you spend the day at the archives while Mason and I explore the city?” My heart soared.
And then I panicked.
I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t gathered my notes, packed my research bag, or even jotted down what I might hope to find. I was completely, utterly unready.
But how could I turn down the opportunity? I went anyway. I walked into those archives completely unprepared but with wide open curiosity.
And friends, I won’t lie to you—it wasn’t a successful research day. I didn't know the rules and procedures. I hadn't researched their holdings. I didn't have a plan! I didn’t find much. I left with little to show for the effort, except the bittersweet lesson that preparation matters, especially when time is precious.
But here’s the thing: I wouldn’t trade that day. Even though it didn’t unfold the way I hoped, it filled me up in its own quiet way.
If I could gently offer you a bit of advice: Never miss an opportunity to do what makes your heart happy. But also? Always be a little bit ready.
Even a simple folder, a small notebook, or a digital research log on your phone can make all the difference when the road unexpectedly opens before you.
Because the backroads have a funny way of calling us when we least expect it.
Pack lightly, but pack intentionally. Keep your tools close. Wander fully. Wonder always. And don’t miss the chance to embrace who you are.
You never know where the road will take you, but it will always lead you closer to yourself.
Coming Next:
In my next post, I’ll be sharing some of my favorite items from my genealogy travel research bag. The things I always try to keep nearby, just in case the road opens unexpectedly. I’ll walk you through the simple tools that help me feel prepared, even on the most spontaneous adventures.
I hope you’ll join me.