An old English oak tree

The idea of climbing a tree seems to be a fitting description of my genealogical search.

The tree that I see in my mind's eye is one of those old English oaks, gnarled and twisted, branches so dense you can't see the top of the tree. Occasionally a leaf falls, and you reach out in all directions to try and catch it, precious as you feel each one is. That is what I feel about my search for my family history: a lot of looking up in hope, not nearly enough reaching my fingers.