Kathy- I am a young child of the old days. My Bisbee roots wrap for 367 years between the cracks in New England rock walls, dig deep into the soil of the Western foothills and remote woods of Maine, and the sweet sap of my ancestors lifeblood runs through rusty taps in ancient maples.
My mother's herstory (The Harts) runs right up through the hollows of West Virginia's mountains, into coal mining towns and out of poverty, from the border of France and Germany to Scotland and Ireland. When I visit these places, I feel their presence. Their memories, like mine, are planted in the soil, deep under the frost of winter, the mud of summer and the leaves of fall. It's my challenge to dig deep and find their stories.
I enjoy studying the past, the present, to be guided into the future by my ancestors. --Kathy Bisbee
My mother's herstory (The Harts) runs right up through the hollows of West Virginia's mountains, into coal mining towns and out of poverty, from the border of France and Germany to Scotland and Ireland. When I visit these places, I feel their presence. Their memories, like mine, are planted in the soil, deep under the frost of winter, the mud of summer and the leaves of fall. It's my challenge to dig deep and find their stories.
I enjoy studying the past, the present, to be guided into the future by my ancestors. --Kathy Bisbee
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