Sometimes you just got to be hit on the head with a sledge hammer, a
five iron or an iron skillet to realize something that has been
staring you in the face all your life.

I recently went to a One Book One Community event in my hometown
where we welcomed a Georgia author who has seen great success with
her books. Kimberly Brock’s latest and the focus of the event is
“The Lost Book of Eleanor Dare.” The story is a fictionalized
account relating to the descendants of the Lost Colony of Roanoke.

In her lecture, I heard her note how she had wondered what were the
stories of the women. Then it hit me, that we generally know the
“his”tory but the “her”story often dies off within a
generation or two of the lady who lived it.

Coming from a family a very strong women, their stories permeated my
childhood. My grandmother, my mother and even the mothers back for a
few greats left pieces of themselves in our family lore.

I recently met someone at a community gathering, they asked who was
my grandmother. When I said, they replied, “I remember her very
well. When I was a boy, she impressed me because she could drive
cattle like any man in the valley.” I had never thought of her
driving cattle. I should have but it just didn’t dawn on me. They
had to get from mountain grazing to valley grazing some how.

That was part of her story, she never shared with me.

I began thinking about the generations of women whose stories were
lost to me except in the names and dates of she and her children.

Now, I am blessed to have several lines which include some pretty
illustrious folks up there on that tree. If the grandmother, aunt or
cousin managed to make a mark on their world then elements of her
story survive in the written history of their country. Many of those
ladies may have had their stories become more fable than history. The
famed Lady Godiva who rode on horseback supposedly in her where with
all, was one of my grandmothers. I had a grandmother Isabella of
France who was credited for overthrowing a king – Edward II. Of
course, there were probably a few of those truth be known, especially
when the king was their not-so-loving husband.

My grandmother Margaret Tudor, who ran Scotland after the death of
her husband King James IV died and struggled against some strong
noble chieftains.

These are a handful who I am blessed to be able to learn a bit about
their lives because fate placed them in a position which made their
lives important because of the man that was their father, their
husband or their son. The oldest image I have of a woman in the tree
dates to Rome, 120 BC, when my grandmother Aurelia managed to birth a
boy who would be Julius Caesar. So, historians managed to write a few
detailed paragraphs about her.

Jumping forward, a handful of grandmothers, aunts and female cousins
managed to get on notable lists among our countries first settlers
but little is known about their specific lives other than their
arrivals in Plymouth on the Mayflower, or Jamestown on another ship.

There is a big dark hole in the herstory of the lives they lived.
Sadly, I fear even though we put much of our story out for the world
to see through social media. I fear that one day that resource will
not be as reliable as the written word once was, if anything was
written.

Don’t let someone have to hit you over the head with something
heavy, take the time to write her story while she is here to tell it.
Or record those she knows about the generation before. Write your own
story too. In my case, a few of those stories in my case can be found
in the book “A Mountain Pearl” which highlights some stories
about my mother and grandmother in Appalachia.

What we do may seem mundane, but to future generations, they might be
amazed, just like I was to think of my dear grandmother driving
cattle like a drover.