For more than thirty years, I've moved from home to home this little brown box. It's ugly. But well formed. It's survived 30 years fulfilling it's purpose, moving from Florida to New Mexico to Texas and now Virginia. It's sturdy, and doesn't take up much space, and has sat for years in a closet or a box completely ignored. And so what treasure lies within these unassuming pieces of assembled wood: our history. At least the beginning of how I started our family tree. Back in the day, before wifi, or even dialup, I made an index card for every person in our tree. Each card was laid out the same. The front listed name and sex; date and place of birth, marriage, and death; burial location. The back listed that person's direct relations: father, mother, spouse, children, siblings. One card for each person. Written in pencil. Now imagine that I learned that I misspelled a name, or a new sibling came along. The filing box was organized alphabetically, by family, ...