I'm out of the country as I write this E-News, in the land of my forebears: St. Martins, New Brunswick, Canada. The little village has shrunk, I am told to 360 residents. I live (for a few weeks of the summer, anyway) in a restored sea captain's home just outside the village. If I go to the library, and input my maiden name and birth date into a certain program, up will pop a list of everyone in the village past and present that I am related to, and by what degree: the librarian, the clerk at the general store, the guy who runs the camp grounds, the carpenter who built my porch, the founder of the village.... It is a mind-boggling experience to meet people and learn we are cousins of one sort or another. My father had served in the RCAF, had been killed overseas in WW II, so I was raised in the U.S., and didn't feel my Canadian roots until I returned here in 1995 for a family reunion.