Frequently, I tell my friends, coworkers, and family that I have one of the most important jobs in the world. As head of reference services at the State Archives, I help connect people to the past, historically and also genealogically.

You may know a genealogist. They may have even been a regular person at one point in their life. Then they tasted that sweet drink of knowing their own roots, finding family secrets, and unlocking their own (and everyone else’s) direct past through the use of obituaries, photographs, census records, biographies, and more. They are the person who drags their family to archives, libraries, and cemeteries whenever they go anywhere on vacation. After tasting that drink, they can’t go back, so now they are the keeper of secrets for their family (and any other family they get interested in).

My family’s genealogist is my mother, and because of her I know all sorts of things about my family and every person who happens to accidentally fall into one of our large ancestral families, which, by the way, is all-consuming in North Dakota. It’s a big state, so I’m probably only connected to half of it. The Germans from Russia half, of course.

Despite my best efforts, I have inherited my mother’s insidious genealogy genes. I use this interest in family history to help others do their own family history research.

When I was younger, I never thought that I would end up helping others fall down the rabbit hole of family history research—but I did, and I love it. Because, again, this is one of the most important jobs in the world. And if you don’t believe me, look at the evidence! Family is all around us—from Luke Skywalker learning that his father is Darth Vader in “Star Wars” to people begetting people in the Bible to King Henry VIII and all the royals. Our families define us, our culture, and our history.

I recently revisited one of my favorite fictional accounts of the importance of family history: “A Swiftly Tilting Planet” by Madeleine L’Engle. After taking a brief, limited survey of some of the people I know, I feel confident in stating that you likely haven’t heard of this book, part of L’Engle’s Time Quintet series, but I am sure you have heard of the first in the series, “A Wrinkle in Time.” I read “A Wrinkle in Time” in elementary school, and I absolutely loved it. Much later in life when I learned that there were sequels, I was excited to read them as well. All are in the fantasy/science fiction genre.

In “A Swiftly Tilting Planet,” Meg Murry, who was the slightly unconfident, ugly duckling lead character in “A Wrinkle in Time,” has matured and married her childhood sweetheart Calvin O’Keefe, who also starred in the first book and who does not get enough “airtime” in this book.

Readers of the first book will already know that Calvin’s family life as a child was not the best. He was kind and smart, but the rest of his siblings were hard and constantly in trouble. His father was mean and his mother detached. Calvin was an outlier. Meg’s scientifically minded family is quirky, fun, and different; her mother is known for cooking meals in her lab over her Bunsen burner, her father studies the science of time, and she and her siblings are all smart in their own way and all very loved.

While Calvin is presenting at a conference in Britain, a very pregnant Meg is celebrating Thanksgiving with her family. Calvin’s mother, Mrs. O’Keefe, has joined the family and is there when the president of the United States calls (it makes sense in the book) and tells Meg’s father that a dictator, Mad Dog Branzillo, is threatening nuclear war.

At this news, surprisingly, Mrs. O’Keefe lays a charge on Charles Wallace, Meg’s youngest brother who is also the most intuitive, to save the world.

After this, Charles Wallace ends up meeting a unicorn (again, it makes sense) who allows him to travel through time, despite mainly staying in one location, in one “where.” In this way, Charles Wallace is able to experience the struggles, connections, and history of multiple generations of one family as he attempts to prevent war by changing the timeline.

I don’t want to ruin the ending, since you will all want to go and read this book immediately, but ancestry is very important to this story. So is the journey to learning this interconnected family history, despite being rife with hardships.

Charles Wallace does not get to look up names in a computer to easily discover who is connected to whom, or what is about to happen to these families. However, he does learn through first-hand experiences. He also eventually gets access to letters from the family (discovered in somebody’s attic, of course) as well as a book that tells important details about the history of the family.

Oh, the places a little genealogical research can take you.

Though his fantastic journey is probably a genealogist’s dream come true (who wouldn’t want to travel through time with a unicorn?), it is also (much like genealogical research) fraught with unknowing, anguish, and frustrations. Our patrons can’t just come into the State Archives and find everything they want by entering a family name into some amazing, magical database. Researchers must pick through whatever they can find to learn the details of a family’s history, which sometimes are very limited. A marriage license here, a death notice there, and a lot of luck may lead them to their quarry.

In the end, Charles Wallace does save the world (sorry to ruin that portion of the ending for you) by finding the “correct” timeline for one family to trace down. We will ignore the nature versus nurture discussions that could occur here and jump right into the crux of the situation—Charles Wallace has discovered how connected we all are through his journey through time.

Our tagline at the State Historical Society of North Dakota is “History for everyone.” I think we can also add, “Everyone’s history matters.” Genealogy may not be of interest to everyone—and I’ll say it—not knowing your ancestry does not mean that you are necessarily lost in this world. But everyone has a story, and that story interacts with everyone else’s story, and we are all more connected than we even realize. Every person, every place, every “where,” and every “when” connects in our shared history.

Genealogy. It matters!

Birds have completely domesticated the State Historical Society of North Dakota. No joke, bear with me. I have evidence. To keep our incredible archaeological and state historic sites accessible and attractive to the public, we mow them. Mowing keeps the sites looking tidy, keeps our visitors happy, and lowers the risk of fire. If you have met me and conversed with me in the last year, you may have heard that mowing grass is one of my favorite things to talk about. Never in all the time I was in museum and history school did I learn one single thing about mowing grass—the manpower and expertise needed to do so, the expense of the equipment, or the unintended consequences of mowing.

Agency construction supervisor, fellow Detroit Tigers fan, and turf manager extraordinaire Paul Grahl.

I would like to introduce you to agency Construction Supervisor Paul Grahl. If he didn’t work for the Historical Society Paul might be professionally described as a greenskeeper, turf manager, or groundskeeper. He has numerous licenses and certificates that allow him legal access to a wide range of tools, which he uses to keep our sites looking spectacular. Paul’s responsibilities also include maintaining a vast array of equipment that we use throughout the year. He runs a tight shop; it is neat as a pin, and every tool is in its place. Frankly, it’s beautiful. This time of year, lawn mowers from quite a few of our historic sites show up at Paul’s shop on Main Avenue in Bismarck for regularly scheduled seasonal maintenance. The mowers naturally get put away in preparation for our other season—Plowing Season. Our mow/plow armada includes 17 mowers, five skid steers, one tractor loader, and a forklift.

Two examples from our fleet of 17 mowers.

Now back to the birds and their subjugation of the State Historical Society. Birds love our historic sites. We provide carefully manicured meadows for them to hunt insects and pursue other prey. To help them survey their avian domains, we provide said birds with perfect perches in the form of state historic site interpretive signs. In the bird world, our signs are unparalleled observation points and snacking stations.

One morning this past July, I was at Fort Abercrombie State Historic Site. I arrived there early (the early bird and all) and was fortunate to ride along with Site Supervisor Lenny Krueger as he opened the site for the day. Among his various duties that morning, Lenny washed the bird droppings off the interpretive signs at Fort Abercrombie while I helped sweep out some of the blockhouses. During our ride, I did some quick “Bill math” that entailed counting our historic sites, adding up interpretive signs, and generally thinking about how much time each historic site’s staff spend per week washing bird poop off interpretive signs. I came up with about $9,500 a year for our role as bird bathroom janitors. That amount seemed like a lot, but it also seemed to me like an unpleasant task that we should try to eliminate. Our interpretive signs are made of high-pressure PVC laminate. If the bird droppings are not removed from signs, they eventually damage signs by fading the colors and causing the first layers of laminate to separate.

Our friends at the Minnesota Historical Society have the same sign issue. Photo by David Grabistke

Naturally I started to ponder possible solutions. The first round of thoughts involved keeping the birds off our signs. Paul had some good ideas on this topic as well. But here is the thing—I really like birds, and I really like seeing them at our historic sites (except for pigeons, that is a whole different story). So I ruled active deterrents out. I instead settled on ideas that involved improving the signs so birds continue to feel welcome at our sites, saving money, and keeping our signs clean so our staff teams can start each day facing one less unpleasant chore.

My hand-sketched visual summary of the agency’s avian predicament and revolutionary sign-saving solution.

I am no inventor, but I do love to bang around in the shop. If something is shiny or loud, I am almost guaranteed to love it. After a bit of trial and error, a piece of 5/16 steel rod, a few minutes at the anvil with red hot metal and a cross pein hammer, and six self-tapping sheet metal screws, I came up with a solution of sorts—Bill’s Sign Saver. I proudly showed the prototype to Paul. After he stopped laughing, Paul agreed to install it first at Double Ditch State Historic Site and then at Huff Indian Village State Historic Site. The Huff site is a notorious bird paradise where Paul could quickly collect a lot of data. While the marketing team might have some work to do on the name of the sign saver, early reports indicate we are really onto something when it comes to keeping signs clean. We might make a few more sign savers next summer and collect more data. I’m hoping that we can help other agencies and organizations facing the same challenges with keeping outdoor signs clean and well maintained while continuing to serve our beloved bird visitors.

Paul Grahl test fitting the sign saver in the agency’s maintenance shop.

My sign saver prototype awaits installation.

Bill’s Sign Saver at Double Ditch Indian Village State Historic Site.

Within the State Historical Society of North Dakota collections, we have lots of fragments. The archaeologists have fragments of stone that come from the manufacturing of tools. These flakes help them understand how the tools were made and used on the site where they were found Paleontologists have fragments of bones that help them better understand prehistoric life and the environment the animals lived in. But are fragments of buildings, ships, or other historic artifacts the best way to understand the times and the people who used or built them? Yes and no.

In the museum collections, we have rust scales, a splinter of wood, and a metal plaque that have a connected history.

How are these objects connected?

Let’s take a closer look at these fragments of history to see what they can tell us about a time in our past. The rust scales are believed to be from the mast of the battleship USS Maine, the splinter of wood is said to be from the Spanish cruiser Reina Cristina, and the plaque is a memorial made of metal from the hull of the USS Maine.

To understand the connection these three pieces have, we will have to go back to the late 1890s when the United States was not the global power it is today. There were no new lands our country could claim, and we were looking to acquire more territory. The only option was to get the lands from a global power, one way or another. At that time, Cuba was controlled by the militarily weak Spain. Under the guise of helping the Cuban people revolt against the Spanish, the United States sailed the USS Maine into Havana Harbor in January 1898. On Feb. 15, there was an explosion that ripped a hole through the hull of the Maine, sinking the ship and killing 260 sailors. Of course, the Spanish were assumed to be responsible despite the lack of evidence. President McKinley tried to reach a compromise with the Spanish government, but publishers like William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer whipped up American sentiment against the Spanish with slogans like “Remember the Maine, to Hell with Spain!” By April 21, McKinley succumbed to a variety of pressures from the press, the public, and politicians and signed a joint congressional resolution that authorized him to use force to supposedly help Cuba gain independence. Shortly thereafter war was declared, and we were now fighting the Spanish-American war.

A few years earlier, in 1896, Theodore Roosevelt, then the Assistant Secretary of the Navy, got his friend Commander George Dewey the post of Commander of the Asiatic Squadron. Shortly after the start of the Spanish-American War, Dewey was charged with either capturing or destroying the Spanish Pacific fleet that was near the Spanish-controlled Philippines. Dewey entered Manilla Bay on the night of April 30. The following morning, they began the attack. It took them six hours to defeat the Spanish Pacific Squadron. One of the ships sunk that day was Spanish Admiral Patricio Montojo’s flagship, the Reina Cristina.

By Aug. 13, 1898, Spain surrendered, and Cuba was a protectorate of the United States, which now also had control of Guam and Puerto Rico. By 1902, the U.S. also had control over the Philippine Islands after fighting and defeating the Filipino people. Our country had become a global power with territories in the Caribbean and in the Pacific.

In 1912 the United States raised the USS Maine, which was partially submerged in Havana Harbor. The mast was relocated to Arlington National Cemetery as a memorial to the USS Maine. Lt. C.L. Hansen, U.S. Navy, was a cadet at Annapolis and obtained these rust scales from the mast. He sent them to his father, Mr. C.L. Hansen of Bismarck, who presented them to the State Historical Society in 1921.

Rust scales from the mast of the USS Maine. SHSND 2075

Pieces of the hull of the USS Maine were salvaged and recast into over 1,000 memorial plaques in 1913. Each plaque is numbered; ours is 351. According to our files, it was given to a relative of a man who died aboard the Maine. We don’t know the name of the sailor or the relative who received the plaque. It went through many hands—some unnamed, others named—before coming to Sister Quintin at the St. Joseph School in Mandan, who donated it to the State Historical Society in 1945.

Memorial plaque made from metal salvaged from the USS Maine. SHSND 10116

As mentioned, the Spanish Admiral Montojo’s flagship, the Reina Cristina, was sunk in Manilla Bay by Dewey’s forces. Unfortunately, we don’t know who or under what circumstances the splinter of wood was collected, but in that kind of a battle, we must wonder how they knew that this piece of wood was even from the Reina Cristina. It reminds me of the multitude of pieces of the true cross that are in churches throughout the world.

Splinter of wood from the Spanish ship Reina Cristina. SHSND 4434

Even knowing the history behind these “fragments of history,” one must wonder if it is the meaning that we imbibe into the artifact that is more important than the object itself.

These seemingly inconsequential “fragments of history” are related to an interesting time in our history. But are they meaningful artifacts on their own? The rust scales and splinter of wood came into our collection when most people still did remember the Maine, and it was a much different time in our collecting strategy. With the uncertain provenance of the wood and the fragmentary nature of the rust scales, it is unlikely that we would accept either if they were offered to us today. While we don’t have a full history of who was the original recipient of the plaque, it tells a complete story by itself, and we would probably accept it now if it were offered. While searches for records of which serial number went where have proven to be in vain, we can only hope that one day we will find that elusive piece of the puzzle. So yes, fragments of historic objects can help us understand the times and people who used and built them by showing us what others thought were important artifacts of history. I have to think: What items have we collected in the past 20 years that will cause people a hundred years in the future to scratch their heads and wonder why we accepted them into the collection?

The common perception of the fur trade frontier from the 18th century to the mid-19th century may be one of a vast and harsh wilderness, where traders and indigenous people had to constantly battle the elements. In reality, the people who participated in the fur trade had at their disposal many of the comforts of a growing global trade network. The traders were responsible for exporting the furs used to make hats and fine clothing to the European market as well as importing luxuries from foreign markets to the prairie to exchange for those furs. Indigenous people participated in this economy by demanding and purchasing goods of the highest quality in exchange for the furs they acquired. Some of these items are on exhibit at the Pembina State Museum. There are original pipes, metal utensils and dishes, as well as shards of original stoneware and china on display. These items tell a tale of globe-spanning importance.

This 15-inch, long-stemmed clay pipe at Pembina State Museum is an example of a type of pipe popular from the late 17th century to the late 19th century. SHSND 85.36.18

One of the most popular luxuries was tobacco. Traded by both French voyageurs and the British Hudson’s Bay Company, tobacco was a highly demanded consumable commodity. An especially prized variety was Brazilian tobacco, which the Hudson’s Bay Co. imported from Portugal. Because of the Navigation Acts, which required all trade to be routed through London, the cost of foreign tobacco was high, as much as three times the cost of British tobacco. The Hudson’s Bay Co. sought to reduce the cost of shipping tobacco to Rupert’s Land, which encompassed all the land that drained into Hudson’s Bay, including Pembina and the Red River Valley. They accomplished this by importing tobacco from Virginia, then an English colony. However, they quickly discovered that their Native customers had developed a taste for Brazilian tobacco while trading with the French and would not buy their inferior product. To keep their customers happy, the Hudson’s Bay Co. switched back to importing the Brazilian variety at a premium price and even purchased tobacco from French and Dutch merchants in Europe when no other supply could be found.

Along with the tobacco, pipes, like the one in the museum gallery pictured above, were a common trade good. These clay pipes were manufactured in England and shipped in mass quantities to North America, not just to Rupert’s Land but to the Thirteen Colonies as well. These pipes were considered disposable, with the stem broken off after each use until only a stub remained. Both long and short-stemmed pipes were common. In Europe long-stemmed pipes were used by the upper class while workers preferred short-stemmed pipes which were easier to grip between their teeth, leaving their hands available for work. In Rupert’s Land the long-stemmed pipe was more common and used recreationally. By the mid-19th century, pipe stems could range from 18-to-24 inches long.

Tobacco was shipped in many forms. Tobacco carrots, the pieces wrapped in cloth and twine, were preferred for their ease of packing and the protection they provided against the elements on long canoe voyages. These examples pictured above are reproductions that visitors may interact with when they visit the Pembina State Museum.

Ceramics were another luxury imported by the Hudson’s Bay Co. in large quantities. At first these products were meant to be used by company employees at the trading posts and were not for exchange. But as the Métis, indigenous people descended from European fur traders and their Native wives, and other independent traders established themselves, the demand for these products increased. Primarily of English origin, by the 19th century, ceramics were popular with a rising middle class seeking ways to display its wealth to others. To satisfy demand, the Hudson’s Bay Co. would import as many as 3,600 pieces of pottery in a year from a single supplier in England. According to its shipping manifests, the most popular color was Royal Saxon blue. The patterns printed in this color were inspired by the oriental patterns of the fine china Europeans had imported since the late 15th century. European potters would subsequently incorporate other colors and patterns inspired by Italian Renaissance paintings and English flora.

Ceramics and other fine pottery were a key luxury imported by the Hudson’s Bay Company. These replicas are part of the new “Red River Rendezvous” interpretive program which explores the process of exchange and material culture of the fur trade era, circa 1800.

In addition to fine pottery, trading companies also imported glass, stoneware, and metal dishes of pewter and tin. Other luxuries imported by the Hudson’s Bay Co. included ivory in the form of combs, alcohol, and sugar. Brandy was the preferred beverage of choice during the 18th century. The Hudson’s Bay Co. also imported rum from the Caribbean. They imported molasses from the Caribbean to make rum locally in Rupert’s Land as well, though rum was never as profitable as brandy. Sugar was not usually traded for furs but rather imported by the company from the Caribbean to keep its employees happy in their frontier posts.

These broken bits on display in the Pembina State Museum were once valuable global commodities. The blue pieces are examples of the Royal Saxon blue color that was popular with Hudson’s Bay Company employees. Also shown here are remnants of pipe stems, glass beads and bottles, buttons, and metal utensils. SHSND 90.288.1-90.288.92

Today what remains of the network of trade that linked many different people together in the 18th and 19th centuries are broken pieces of items discarded long ago. These pieces, found at trading sites like Fort Pembina built by the confluence of the Red and Pembina rivers in 1801 or at the Gingras or Kittson trading posts constructed near St. Joseph’s (modern Walhalla) in the 1840s, represent what their owners likely would have considered to be garbage. Still, an interpreter can use these items to shed light on the nature of a globally linked economy and how local people participated in and influenced that economy. Despite its frontier location, Pembina and the rest of what would become northeast North Dakota represented a key spoke in the wheel of global trade.

October is a time of transition. As the air becomes crisp and harvest concludes the growing season, the last gasps of summer give way to occasional early reminders of the coming winter.

The month is also special for the State Archives because it is American Archives Month. To celebrate, the Archives has provided a variety of content for the State Historical Society of North Dakota’s Facebook page, including a virtual scavenger hunt, our Ask-an-Archivist panel, a Feature Friday, where we highlight the collections our volunteers are working with, and a blog post from fellow Reference Specialist Ashley Thronson.

With Halloween approaching, it is a great time to examine some of the archival holdings related to the holiday and how it’s been celebrated over the years. Photographs are one of the best resources to explore the past, providing a visual example of societal differences then and now. We have several examples illustrating how previous generations experienced Halloween. Note the photo below of a Brownie troop sporting their costumes for a Halloween party in 1947. Their happiness at the occasion is evident, and their costumes are largely homemade.

Brownie troop Halloween party in 1947, Williston. SHSND SA 10958-025A-000-00019

Do you remember the delight of annual Halloween parties in your classroom at school, receiving candy and other treats, often having a day of fun activities, or perhaps a movie or a play, and maybe being permitted to wear your costume to school? Generations of schoolkids enjoyed this pastime. While the costumes have certainly changed, as have the treats, the excitement remains.

Students in costume for a Halloween play. SHSND SA 11225-0008-000-00110

Despite the kids’ somber looks in the above picture, one imagines they had a fun day at school back around 1920. What stands out in this group photo is the three children in the front row dressed as witches. The kids were in costume for a Halloween class play, but it is unknown what play they were performing. In looking at the types of costumes, visions of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” come to mind, as the book had been published in 1900, or perhaps the spooky “Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

Students Richard Vennie, Laurie Bengenheimer, and Jacalyn Wrangham don their Halloween costumes for class in October 1960. SHSND SA 00080-box03-folder26-00012

Likewise, the above 1960 photo from the Bismarck Tribune Photograph Collection shows kids in their classroom dressed up for Halloween. Notice again that the costumes appear homemade. The seated kids appear to be working on art projects as part of the lesson.

The 1966 image below from the William E. “Bill” Shemorry Photograph Collection shows a large class of happy kids posing with their treat bags, either before or after their Halloween party. What is interesting is that the kids are not wearing costumes. This might reflect social norms for dress in school at the time, which may have frowned upon children wearing costumes. It also could be due to the timing of the day Halloween fell on. Whatever the reason, their bright smiles evoke thoughts of children excited to engage in trick-or-treating.

Happy schoolkids pose with their treats in this 1966 Williston classroom photo. SHSND SA 10958-023G-000-00050

Halloween also can bring joy to those suffering in hospitals, as folks attempt to brighten their days by delivering treats when they otherwise are unable to participate in activities. One great example is that of former North Dakota first lady Betsy Dalrymple, who is pictured below bringing candy to a young boy in Sanford Hospital in 2012. The photo is part of her papers, one of two state series in the Archives related to the office of the first lady of North Dakota.

Then-North Dakota first lady Betsy Dalrymple visits children in Sanford Hospital on Halloween 2012. SHSND SA 32404-00694

Halloween is an exciting time, and sometimes the weather here in North Dakota also makes it an interesting evening for the parents and kids scurrying about for candy. Folks may recall warm evenings, or snow and bitter cold heralding a potential long winter on the northern Plains. Reflect upon your past Halloweens and think about what stands out to you. Was it a special time of trick-or-treating with friends or with parents, attending a party, or having a fun day in school?

As we conclude American Archives Month, we hope you have a safe and enjoyable holiday.

As the main person responsible for monitoring the State Historical Society’s social media accounts, I always keep an eye on our likes, shares, comments, tags, and incoming messages. Some days can be overwhelming trying to stay on top of it all. Other days a diamond in the rough emerges and makes it all worthwhile.

I recently came across a true gem after receiving an email notification about a comment on one of our YouTube videos. In this video, Curator of Education Erik Holland uses a miniature tipi to demonstrate how to pitch a three-pole tipi. The video was made as a resource for teachers using the educational “Tipi in a Box” program. After reading a couple comments (see below), it soon became clear that some people are watching the video for instructions on how to create mini tipis for animals. How cool is that!

— I'm so happy you were making a tiny tipi...that's what I'm making for the squirrels!

— im making this for my green iguana this is a good tutorial

I knew my niece would get a kick out of the story about people building mini tipis for animals, so I told her and asked if she would create a picture for my blog. She immediately opened Paint 3D on my laptop and got to work on this masterpiece.

Switching from animals to natural disasters, blizzard posts are a huge hit among our social media followers. Our most popular blizzard post on Facebook, marking the 50th anniversary of the Blizzard of 1966, featured photos and information on the blizzard and has over 15,000 likes, comments, and shares! Although it is our most popular blizzard post to date, any post we make about blizzards gets a lot of attention. I’ve tried posts on other natural disasters like floods and tornados to see if they do as well, but our social media audience has spoken, and blizzards it is!

Here is one of the photos I included in our Blizzard of 1966 Facebook post. Snow buried these two cars in the Baptist Home’s parking lot in Bismarck. SHSND SA 00056-00046

Since I’m on a roll (pun intended … you’ll understand soon), I’ll share one more post that made me smile for many reasons. The North Dakota Heritage Center & State Museum was tagged on Instagram by bathroomsofnote. Reading the username made me laugh and wonder what I was in for. It turned out to be about a visitor’s very positive experience with our bathrooms, as you can tell from the following part of their post:

Some of you may already know this, but I'm a huge #museumnerd so I'm absolutely head over heels for these restroom installations in love with these little vignettes on the history of bathrooms, which add a great pop of color to the neutral-toned tile and stalls, and really made me appreciate the little things about the modern restroom experience. Dug the light fixtures soft glow, happy to see accessibility considerations, and having a changing table in the men's room is always appreciated Lots of hands-free stuff here, too, which is nice. All in all I was really impressed by these bathrooms

I had no idea there was an Instagram account dedicated to bathrooms, but I’m very happy they took the time to recognize ours and share their experience with the world. This is one of those tagged posts you never see coming. Knowing that there might be another one like this right around the corner keeps me energized as I continue to monitor our social media accounts.

Thank you to those who have made my day!