An American tale

In honor of America’s 250th birthday and as my family’s genealogist, I want to share with you how the Richmond family came to America.

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It’s a miracle

There’s a Queen song I like called “The Miracle.” The song opens, “Every drop of rain that falls in the Sahara Desert says it all, it’s a miracle. All God’s creations, great and small, the Golden Gate and the Taj Mahal, that’s a miracle.” I could go on, but you get the idea. The song lists so many things in life, both natural and manufactured, that can be considered miracles.

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A debt repaid

Following the First Battle of Manassas, the Bensons discovered a wounded Union soldier, Private John Rice of the 2nd New Hampshire Infantry, left for dead near Sudley Church. For ten days, the Bensons dressed his wounds, provided him with food and water, and protected him from the elements.

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What do you have to live for?

At the start of World War II, Viktor Frankl, a 37-year-old respected psychiatrist in Vienna, had a thriving practice, a nearly finished manuscript, and a wife, Tilly, whose laughter could fill any room. As Jews, they could have escaped to America, but they chose to stay with Frankl’s elderly parents. Within months, the Nazis detained them all, transferring them first to Theresienstadt, then to Auschwitz, and ultimately to Dachau.

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Happy little accidents

I’ve always loved art, and in my youth, I spent my free time sketching on vacation. While I struggled to draw people, I enjoyed capturing landscapes. I would take a blank page from my sketchbook and transform it into a realistic depiction of a building or natural scenery. For this reason, I have always admired the painter Bob Ross.

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The light at the end of the tunnel

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to Lexington, KY, to pick up my son, Chris, who had just finished his first year at the University of Kentucky. As usual, I took a short detour to make the long drive more enjoyable. This time, I explored the Blue Ridge Tunnel trail near Wayneboro, Virginia, just off I-64.

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