When we wanted to help our two grade-school children put personal history into perspective, we took them to the State Historical Society. They first read the Tribune announcement of their births and then the news and ads in those issues. They wanted to read something about Abraham Lincoln; they were horrified that only a handful of Boone County residents voted for him. One of them turned to me and asked, “Mother, did your vote for Lincoln?” Just for the record, my parents weren’t even born then! I suddenly realized that it is the parents’ responsibility to make family history come alive for children.

In casual ways Chub and I helped our kids and their four boys understand “the olden days.” I used to say at bedtime, “Shall I read a story or do you want to hear about something Nancy and Walt did when they were your age?” They always liked the stories we told. These grandsons are now teens. They’re more interested in soccer, jobs, bikes and computers than in ancestors, but family history caught their attention two years ago in eastern Missouri.

Chub and I were researching the cross-state Katy trail in that area and were visiting with a couple who lived where my mother’s Bryan ancestors lived early in the 1800s. I asked if the old two-story brick house had been built by the Bryans.

“No, the Bryans lived in the old cabin, and this home was built after their time,” she said. “Three generations of Bryans are buried on this farm.”

Her fireplace mantel was made from a walnut ceiling joist from the old cabin. The rest had probably rotted away. I stroked the smooth, old wood, a link in our family history. The third Mrs. Bryan was a link, too -- a Logan ancestor.

Walt and our grandsons were with us on a later trip there. From the driveway I noticed an open garage and could see an inside wall of old logs. The exteriors of adjoining buildings were neat, white clapboards. Could that inside wall be part of the old cabin? Yes. Could I photograph the wall? “Of course, but don’t you want to go inside the cabin?” Inside the cabin! I could hardly wait.

She unlocked the white door, and we stepped inside a small, dark room where feed and odds and ends were stored. This door and wall had replaced a large fireplace that went down, long ago. The old entrance was at the opposite end and was so small an adult would have to bend down to enter.

The grandsons were speechless at first. “I’m surprised that the Bryans had a floor in their cabin,” I said. “They didn’t,” the lady answered. “The earth was the floor, and this floor was added later.”

I spied two wide shelves, about head high and extending the full length on each side of the room. “Boys,” I said. “What were the shelves for?” It was Peter who knew. “That’s where they slept. It was warmer up there.” Straw or corn shuck mattresses and home spun blankets made cozy beds.

I imagined the families around the fireplace in winter -- cooking, eating, bathing, drying fruits and herbs, spinning tops, popping corn. And I noticed that one walnut ceiling joist had been cut to make that mantel.

Until that day, the Bryans and the Logans had been mere names in Grandma’s Bible.