Beyond the Records: A Personal Discovery at the National Archives

National Archives in Washington, DC, photographed by Brenda Leyndyke

Last summer, I had the opportunity to attend Gen-Fed in Washington, DC, and the main highlight of that trip was spending time at the National Archives.

This was something I had wanted to do for years.

As a family historian, we spend so much time working with digital records, indexes, and transcriptions. Those tools are invaluable, but they are not the same as being there in person.

Walking into the research room, I felt a sense of awe. I knew that somewhere in that building were records connected to my own family.

When I was finally able to sit down, look at, and touch the documents, it became something more than research.

It became personal when I looked through logbooks from the 1890s and early 1900s for Point Betsie Lighthouse in Frankfort, Michigan, and saw entries for my great-grandfather, Frank H. Glover.

Lighthouse Log Book at NARA in Washington, D.C.

I had the opportunity to view log books from my great grandfather’s time as an assistant lighthouse keeper. Seeing his name written in those records was one thing. But actually being there, turning the pages, and knowing that these were the very documents created during his lifetime, is hard to put into words.

I am emotional just writing this.

There is something powerful about touching a piece of your family’s history. It connects you to them in a way that no digital image ever can.

The log book entry, on the last entry, for Frank H. Glover's resignation in June, 1900

In that moment, my great grandfather was no longer just a name, a date, or an entry in my family tree. He was a person who kept those logs, who lived that life, and whose work was recorded in those pages.

It is an experience I had hoped for, and one I will never forget.

Research Notes:

• Repository: National Archives I

• Record type: Lighthouse log books

• Time period: 1898-1902

• Location: Record Group 25, Entry Number NC 1 106, Bound volume number 10

• Access notes: Accessed in person 

This was just one of many records I found documenting my great-grandfather’s life, each adding another piece to his story. But this moment felt different. It reminded me why I spend so much time doing this work, not just to gather names and dates, but to better understand the lives behind them. Moments like this turn research into connection and make family history feel truly personal.

The Little Creamer on the Table

You may have read about items I have been fortunate to receive and care for as part of my family history. This small glass creamer is one of those pieces.

It belonged to my grandmother, Daisy Fredricks, and it is the only item I have from her.

Photograph by Brenda Leyndyke

My grandmother came from very humble beginnings, and this creamer reflects that. It is simple pressed glass with a scalloped edge, the kind of everyday piece found in many homes in the early 20th century. Pieces like this were affordable and meant to be used. Today, they are often associated with what collectors call Depression-era glass.

I remember this creamer from visits to her home.

She would make coffee for my mom and set the creamer on the table. There was always a plate of cookies, and for me, a glass of milk.

I can still picture myself sitting at that table.

I do not remember exactly what kind of cookies she served, only that there was always a plate on the table. A few years ago, I shared my grandmother’s oatmeal cookie recipe, written in her own hand. I often wonder if those were the cookies she made when we visited.

I am emotional just writing this. I did not think of these moments as anything special at the time. They were simply part of visiting Grandma. Now, I realize how much those small moments mattered especially since we didn't visit often as we lived hours away from her.

When I look at this creamer today, I think about her hands setting it on the table. I think about the conversations between her and my mom. I think about being included, even as a child, in those quiet visits.

As family historians, we spend a lot of time looking for records and documenting facts. But sometimes it is the everyday items that tell us the most.

This creamer is simple, but it represents something much larger.

It represents a place at the table.