I have noticed something counterintuitive as I attend both genealogy and history conferences. It mystifies me how rarely I see the same set of people at both. With so much in common—so much to learn from each other—why do the fields tend to separate so entirely?
I confess, I have dealt with a sort of guilt as I bounce between the two environments. It is as though I am cheating on my true passion. But which is my true passion?
I confess, I have dealt with a sort of guilt as I bounce between the two environments. It is as though I am cheating on my true passion. But which is my true passion?
When researching history, rather than desiring to make broad social analyses, I find myself drawn to the history that sheds light on the lives of very specific people, often kin. When doing genealogy, rather than rapidly climbing family trees to eighteenth-century Prussia, I dawdle happily in Centreville, Alabama, circa 1850, wanting to know my ancestors’ world in detail before I move further up the tree.
I am, then, neither the ideal social historian nor the stellar lineage-driven genealogist. After years of trying to decide which field would get my purest energy and commitment, I finally realized something: my passion lies where these two fields intersect, and that is where I want to invest my mind and heart, without guilt or apology.
I am a genohistorian.
Do not bother looking up the field in the dictionary. It is not there…yet. But when it finally does become a dictionary term, I imagine the definition will look something like this:
I am, then, neither the ideal social historian nor the stellar lineage-driven genealogist. After years of trying to decide which field would get my purest energy and commitment, I finally realized something: my passion lies where these two fields intersect, and that is where I want to invest my mind and heart, without guilt or apology.
I am a genohistorian.
Do not bother looking up the field in the dictionary. It is not there…yet. But when it finally does become a dictionary term, I imagine the definition will look something like this:
Genohistory (noun) The crossdisciplinary study of an interconnected group of people, often a family, within the context of its own time and place.
I am creating the intellectual environment where I belong, and a growing number of likeminded people are joining in—recognizing that they have been undeclared genohistorians for decades. At present, we gather around my new blog, Genohistory on Purpose, every other Sunday, exploring how a genohistorian sees the world of ancestors.
Genohistory, as it has long been practiced in guilty secret, uses the tools and established knowledge of both genealogy and history. But it goes broader than the first and more specific than the second. It starts with a set of people, like my Mayberry ancestors in Bibb County. I do the normal genealogical research, gathering the available details about them all. But then I go further, looking outward from them to the world they knew. Their enslaved people are of primary interest. I want to know about the neighbors, community, and town; their industries, roads, schools, and churches; their traditions, morals, and faith; and the events that shaped their lives.
Local and regional histories become essential to expanding on the genealogical framework. They offer the broader landscape around my ancestors and the people they enslaved. As I consult histories, I am not reading for general interest in a town—though local histories tend to be written with the municipality as the main character. My attention is anchored by my desire to know what my ancestors experienced as they looked outward from their daily businesses and lives. It does not matter if they are mentioned in the history; it matters that the history shows me what they saw. It causes me to read with different eyes, different filters, different questions.
Beyond history and genealogy, the “cross-disciplinary” nature of genohistory can include any field that illuminates the lives of a specific set of people in their time and place. We can use anthropology, sociology, psychology, archealogy, agriculture, literature, religion, art, architecture, geology, geography, language, foodways, and the list goes on. To know my greatgrandfather Otha Payne, for example, I need to read up on basket-making. Genohistory can never grow boring. If you find history far more interesting when your own ancestors are the main characters, you might be a genohistorian, too.
If you are a genealogist who keeps “dawdling” in one generation, on one branch of the family, curious to find more and more, you almost surely are a genohistorian. I encourage you to join us at Genohistory on Purpose (genohistorian.com) as we flesh out what it means, how it works, and what a quality genohistory might look like.
Genohistory, as it has long been practiced in guilty secret, uses the tools and established knowledge of both genealogy and history. But it goes broader than the first and more specific than the second. It starts with a set of people, like my Mayberry ancestors in Bibb County. I do the normal genealogical research, gathering the available details about them all. But then I go further, looking outward from them to the world they knew. Their enslaved people are of primary interest. I want to know about the neighbors, community, and town; their industries, roads, schools, and churches; their traditions, morals, and faith; and the events that shaped their lives.
Local and regional histories become essential to expanding on the genealogical framework. They offer the broader landscape around my ancestors and the people they enslaved. As I consult histories, I am not reading for general interest in a town—though local histories tend to be written with the municipality as the main character. My attention is anchored by my desire to know what my ancestors experienced as they looked outward from their daily businesses and lives. It does not matter if they are mentioned in the history; it matters that the history shows me what they saw. It causes me to read with different eyes, different filters, different questions.
Beyond history and genealogy, the “cross-disciplinary” nature of genohistory can include any field that illuminates the lives of a specific set of people in their time and place. We can use anthropology, sociology, psychology, archealogy, agriculture, literature, religion, art, architecture, geology, geography, language, foodways, and the list goes on. To know my greatgrandfather Otha Payne, for example, I need to read up on basket-making. Genohistory can never grow boring. If you find history far more interesting when your own ancestors are the main characters, you might be a genohistorian, too.
If you are a genealogist who keeps “dawdling” in one generation, on one branch of the family, curious to find more and more, you almost surely are a genohistorian. I encourage you to join us at Genohistory on Purpose (genohistorian.com) as we flesh out what it means, how it works, and what a quality genohistory might look like.
Author
Donna Cox Baker is the director of Alabama Heritage.