I am impressed by the family stories generated and published by other genealogists and family historians, and I wish that I was a better writer. I want to be able to write interesting, meaningful and good stories about my own ancestors to help me and my relatives (brothers, children, grandchildren, cousins) understand their ancestors lives. At my age, I'm not going to significantly improve my writing, so I've relied on Artificial Intelligence to help me.
Like me, several genealogists and family historians are using Artificial Intelligence to generate story ideas and to write the stories, which are then edited for accuracy and content, and then published on websites and/or blogs.
Carole McCulloch in Australia is one of those writers, and her website is NextGenGenealogy and her YouTube channel is Carole McCulloch Geneablogger. If you are fascinated by stories of ancestors, read and watch Carole's stories on her websites. One of Carole's story-telling prompts is to have an Artificial Intelligence tool create a list of ideas or questions about key events in an ancestor's life, based on a factual genealogical sketch or biography. Then, she has the AI tool write stories for each idea or question. That is a great idea!
I have started to use this type of prompt to help me tell stories about my ancestors (THANK YOU CAROLE!!).
1) Here is the AI prompt that I'm using for free AI tools like OpenAI ChatGPT4, Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4, Google Gemini 2.5 Flash and X.ai Grok 3: "Please provide ten unique interview questions to ask [David Jackson Carringer] about [his or her] life experiences based on the attached report. Provide one-paragraph answers to each question." I then attached my genealogical sketch for the AI tool to use to provide the questions or ideas, and eventually ask the AI tool to provide the answers to the questions based on the information in my genealogical sketch, historical events, cultural background, etc.
2) The Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4 response to my prompt for David Jackson Carringer (1828-1902) was:
D.J. Carringer's Complete Interview Responses
As told from his San Diego home, circa 1901
Question 1: The Great Migration West:
Mr. Carringer, you moved your family from Pennsylvania to Iowa, then to Colorado, and finally to California over the course of your lifetime. What drove these decisions to keep moving west, and which transition was the most challenging for your family?
"Well now, that's a story spanning near fifty years, and I suppose it all started with necessity more than adventure. When my dear mother Sarah passed in '48, it changed everything for our family, and with Father getting on in years and Pennsylvania getting crowded, the opportunities weren't what they once were for a young carpenter. Each move west was driven by the same hope that's always moved Americans—the belief that somewhere out there, there's a better life waiting if you're willing to work for it. The move to Iowa was easiest, keeping family together on rich farmland, but losing that farm in '72 and having to sell even Rebecca's kitchen table was one of the hardest days of my life. Colorado was the most challenging transition—taking the family to a rough mining camp high in the mountains, and then losing our sweet Effie just two years after we arrived nearly broke us. But here we are now in our little cottage with orange trees outside, watching the sun set over the Pacific, and I reckon that's worth all the hardship we endured to get here, though I'll say each move was harder on Rebecca than me—women put down deeper roots, but she never complained once, just packed her china carefully and trusted me to find us a new home."
Question 2: From Carpenter to Farmer to Fruit Grower:
Your occupations evolved dramatically throughout your life—from carpenter in Pennsylvania to farmer in Iowa to fruit grower in Colorado. How did you learn these different trades, and which work brought you the most satisfaction?
"When I look back on it, I never set out to be a jack-of-all-trades, but circumstances have a way of making you learn things you never thought you'd need to know. I started as a carpenter in Pennsylvania—learned it from my father, and there's something satisfying about taking rough lumber and building something that'll outlast you—but when we got to Iowa and I saw all that rich black soil, farming looked like the path to real prosperity, a chance to own land and be my own boss. That 1870 season was good—452 bushels of spring wheat, 400 bushels of corn—I was proud of those numbers, but farming can break your heart when you do everything right and still lose it all to weather and prices. Moving to Colorado, I went back to carpentry at first, making good money building for miners, but as I got older the physical demands wore on me, and that's when I discovered fruit growing—it was like raising children, requiring attention and care rather than back-breaking work. Each trade taught me something different: carpentry taught me precision and patience, farming taught me humility and hard work, but fruit growing taught me the rewards of gentle persistence, and I think that's what gives me the deepest satisfaction now in my old age—working with living things, coaxing sweetness from the earth, feels closer to the Lord's own work."
Question 3: The Failed Farm Sale of 1872:
The public notice for your farm sale in Jackson township, Iowa, suggests financial difficulties forced you to sell everything—even your furniture. Can you tell us about that difficult period and how you found the strength to start over in Colorado?
That auction in October of '72 was the lowest point of my life, I'll admit it freely. Standing there watching strangers handle Rebecca's furniture, bidding on the tools I'd worked with every day, seeing everything we'd built together reduced to dollar amounts—it was enough to break a man's spirit. The farm had failed despite all our hard work; you can plant at the right time, tend your crops carefully, and still lose everything to forces beyond your control. I remember looking at Rebecca that day, seeing her try to hold back tears as they sold her kitchen table and her good dishes, and wondering if I'd failed as a husband and provider. But you know what kept us going? The knowledge that we still had each other and our boys, and the faith that the Lord doesn't give you more than you can bear, even when it feels like He might. That sale taught us that material possessions are just that—possessions—and what really matters is family and the strength to start over, which is exactly what we did when we packed up for Colorado with nothing but hope and determination.
Question 4: Life in a Mining Boomtown:
You signed the petition to incorporate Caribou, Colorado, in 1874, helping establish this mining town. What was it like living in such a remote, newly formed community? How did the mining boom affect daily life for families like yours?
"Caribou was unlike anything we'd ever experienced—a rough, wild place perched high in the mountains where fortunes were made and lost overnight. The town was full of miners, merchants, and dreamers, all chasing silver, and the energy was both exciting and dangerous; you'd see men strike it rich one day and lose it all gambling the next, and the saloons never seemed to close. For families like ours, it meant being extra careful with the children, making sure they understood the difference between right and wrong when surrounded by such temptation, and creating our own little bubble of respectability in all that chaos. The altitude took some getting used to—we were all short of breath for months—and the winters were brutal, but there was money to be made building houses for successful miners, and I'll admit there was something thrilling about being part of a brand-new community, helping establish law and order by signing that petition to incorporate the town. The mining boom meant constant change—people coming and going, new businesses opening and closing, fortunes rising and falling—but it also meant opportunity for a skilled carpenter willing to work hard, and despite the hardships, those were some of the most exciting years of our lives, even if we paid a terrible price with Effie's death."
Question 5: The Loss of Your Daughter Effie:
Losing your 15-year-old daughter Effie in 1874, so soon after arriving in Colorado, must have been devastating. How did this tragedy affect your family, and what helped you and Rebecca find the strength to continue?
Losing Effie at just fifteen years old, so soon after we'd arrived in Colorado, was a blow that nearly destroyed us both. She was our little sunshine, bright and full of life, and watching her fade away from illness in that rough mountain town, so far from the family and friends who'd known her since birth, was the hardest thing Rebecca and I ever endured together. I remember standing at her graveside in Columbia Cemetery, looking out at those towering peaks, and wondering how we'd ever find the strength to go on without her laughter filling our little cabin. Rebecca took it especially hard—mothers and daughters have a special bond—and there were nights I'd find her just sitting by the window, staring out at nothing, tears streaming down her face. What saved us, I think, was our faith and the knowledge that Effie was in a better place, free from suffering, and that we had to keep going for Harvey and Henry, who needed us to be strong. The community in Caribou was surprisingly supportive too—these rough miners and their families understood loss, and they rallied around us in ways that reminded us we weren't alone, even in that remote place.
Question 6: Teaching Your Sons the Trades:
Both of your sons, Harvey and Henry, learned skilled trades—Harvey in farming and later as a clerk, and Henry as a millwright and carpenter. How important was it to you to pass on practical skills to your boys, and what advice did you give them about making their way in the world?
"Teaching Harvey and Henry practical skills was one of the most important things I could do as their father, because a man needs to be able to support himself and his family no matter what life throws at him. I made sure both boys learned carpentry from me—how to handle tools properly, how to measure twice and cut once, how to take pride in good craftsmanship—but I also encouraged them to find their own paths, which is how Henry became such a skilled millwright and Harvey learned farming and clerking. The advice I gave them was simple: work hard, be honest in your dealings, learn as much as you can about whatever trade you choose, and never be too proud to start over if circumstances require it. I wanted them to understand that a man's worth isn't measured by what he owns but by his willingness to provide for his family and contribute to his community, and I'm proud to say both my boys took those lessons to heart. Watching Henry build his own life in Kansas and then California, seeing Harvey stay loyal to the family even when it meant sacrifice, well, that tells me Rebecca and I did something right in raising them, even through all our moves and troubles."
Question 7: The Colorado Agricultural Experiment:
You transitioned from general farming in Iowa to fruit growing in Colorado. What drew you to fruit cultivation, and what were the unique challenges of farming in Colorado's climate and terrain compared to the Midwest?
"Transitioning from grain farming in Iowa to fruit growing in Colorado was like learning a completely different language, but the mountain climate and soil proved perfect for certain varieties of apples and other fruits. What drew me to fruit cultivation was partly necessity—I needed work that was less physically demanding than carpentry as I got older—but also the realization that fruit trees were like patient teachers, requiring attention and care rather than the back-breaking labor of row crops. The challenges were significant: learning about altitude effects on growing seasons, dealing with sudden temperature changes, understanding how mountain soil differed from Iowa's rich black earth, and figuring out which varieties would thrive in that harsh but beautiful environment. Unlike grain farming where you plant, tend, and harvest in a single season, fruit growing required thinking in terms of years—planting trees you might not see fully productive for five or six years, but then enjoying their bounty for decades. I found real satisfaction in that work, watching my orchards mature and produce, knowing that the trees I planted would outlast me and continue feeding families long after I was gone, and the income was steadier than grain farming too, less dependent on a single season's weather."
Question 8: Building a Home in San Diego:
At age 70, you moved your family and obtained a permit to build an $800 cottage in San Diego—quite an investment for someone your age. What made you decide to put down such permanent roots in California, and how did you envision spending your final years there?
"At seventy years old, moving and getting that permit to build an $800 cottage in San Diego was probably the most optimistic thing I'd ever done, but Rebecca and I were tired of being renters and wanted a place to truly call our own for whatever years the Lord might grant us. We'd followed Henry out to California partly for the climate—those Colorado winters were getting harder on our old bones—but mostly to be near family, to watch little Lyle grow up and maybe help Henry and his wife in whatever way we could. The decision to put down such permanent roots came from a deep desire for stability after a lifetime of moving; we wanted a place where we could tend a small garden, sit on our own porch in the evenings, and know that we'd finally found our last home. Building that cottage in Brooklyn Heights, so close to Henry's family, felt like completing a circle that had started back in Pennsylvania fifty years earlier—we'd traveled thousands of miles, learned new trades, survived losses and failures, and finally found a place where we could rest and enjoy our remaining years together."
Question 9: Watching the Country Change:
You lived through enormous changes in America—from the antebellum period through the Civil War, westward expansion, and into the new century. What changes in the country surprised you most, and what aspects of the "old ways" did you miss?
"Living through the changes from the antebellum period to the dawn of this new century has been like watching several different countries emerge from the one I was born into, and the speed of change in recent decades has been simply astounding. What surprised me most was the railroad—when I was young, traveling from Pennsylvania to Iowa was an enormous undertaking, but now you can cross the entire continent in a matter of days; it's connected the country in ways we never imagined possible and made our westward moves seem almost routine. The mining booms, the agricultural expansion, the growth of cities, the inventions coming one after another—electric lights, telephones, all manner of machinery—sometimes I feel like I've lived through three different lifetimes. What I miss most about the old ways is the sense that neighbors truly depended on each other; in those early Iowa farming communities, we helped each other with harvests, raised barns together, shared our successes and failures, but now with all this progress, families seem more scattered, communities more temporary. Still, I can't complain about progress—it's brought us here to this beautiful place where an old fruit grower can sit in his garden year-round, watching ships come and go in the harbor, marveling at how far we've all come.
Question 10: Your Golden Wedding Anniversary:
Despite all the hardships—failed farms, the loss of a child, multiple relocations—you and Rebecca celebrated 50 years of marriage in 1901. What do you believe was the secret to maintaining your partnership through such challenging times, and what memories from your marriage brought you the most joy?
"Standing in our little parlor last October, surrounded by friends celebrating fifty years of marriage, I kept thinking about all the trials Rebecca and I had weathered together—the failed farm, the moves, losing Effie, starting over again and again—and realizing that none of it would have been possible without her unwavering faith in me and in our family. The secret to our partnership, if there is one, was simple: we made our decisions together, we shared our burdens, and we never forgot that we were on the same side, even when times got hard and tempers got short. Rebecca has been my anchor through every storm, the one who packed our belongings without complaint for each move, who held me up when I wanted to quit, who made every house we lived in feel like home; she's also been my conscience, keeping me honest and reminding me what truly matters when I got too caught up in business or worry. The memories that bring me the most joy are the quiet ones—evenings on our various porches talking about the day, watching our boys grow into good men, sharing morning coffee and planning our small adventures, celebrating small victories together. That golden anniversary party, with folks bringing gold coins and useful gifts, reminded us that we'd not only survived together but had somehow built a life that mattered to others, and that's about the finest legacy two people can hope for."
3) The OpenAI ChatGPT4 response to my prompt for David Jackson Carringer (1828-1902) was:
Here are sample questions and answers from David Jackson “D.J.” Carringer, as if he's reflecting in the final years of his life—perhaps in San Diego in 1901—sharing wisdom and memories with his children and grandchildren:
1. "What motivated you to leave Pennsylvania and move your young family to Iowa in the 1850s?"
“After my mother passed in ’48, Pa seemed lost. He talked often of going west, and I felt the same pull. Land was cheaper in Iowa, and there was a chance to build something of our own—not just for me and Rebecca, but for our children. So we packed our hopes and tools and headed west in a wagon caravan. It wasn’t easy, but it was ours.”
2. "Can you describe the day you lost your daughter Effie in Caribou, Colorado, and how your family coped with such a tragedy?"
“June 8th, 1874... I’ll never forget it. Effie had such spirit—sharp mind, gentle heart. She fell ill quickly. We tried all we could, but there was no saving her. Burying her in Boulder was the hardest day of my life. Rebecca never fully recovered. Harvey and Austin helped keep us strong. We leaned on each other—and on faith—even when faith felt far away.”
3. "You were a carpenter, farmer, and later a fruit grower—how did your skills evolve with each new home you built across three states?"
“I followed the tools in my hands. In Pennsylvania, I built with wood. In Iowa, I worked the land. When the farm failed, I went back to carpentry in Colorado. Later, I tried my hand at fruit growing—grapes and apples mostly. Each trade taught me something: patience, precision, and how to start again when the world shifts beneath you.”
4. "What do you remember most about your 50th wedding anniversary celebration in San Diego?"
“The laughter. The warmth. Even though Rebecca and I were in poor health, the house felt alive that night. Neighbors and kin came with gifts, songs, and hugs. Someone even brought gold coins. But it was the look in Rebecca’s eyes—still full of love after 50 years—that meant the most to me.”
5. "How did it feel to start over in Boulder, Colorado after your Iowa farm was sold at auction?"
“Humbling. That sale in ’72 was hard—I’d put everything into that land. Losing it was like watching your dreams wither in the field. But we had our sons, and we still had each other. Caribou was raw and wild, but there was opportunity there. I picked up my tools again and carved out a new life plank by plank.”
6. "What inspired you to sign the petition to incorporate the town of Caribou in 1874?"
“We needed order. Folks were arriving fast—miners, merchants, dreamers. The petition meant roads, a post office, and law. It meant turning wilderness into a town. I believed then—and still do—that we’re meant to leave the land better than we found it.”
7. "Which of your children surprised you the most in the choices they made as adults?"
“Austin, surely. As a boy, he was quiet but always watching—steady with his hands, clever with tools. I thought he’d stay near the farm or follow me in carpentry. But he struck out on his own, working in mills and helping build machinery and structures I’d never dreamed of. When he married that bright Kansas girl and moved clear out to San Diego, I knew he was chasing something bigger. I never expected one of my sons to settle beside the Pacific Ocean, but I’m glad he did. He built a good life there, and we followed him west one last time.”
8. "Looking back, what was the most difficult decision you ever made for your family’s future?"
“Selling the Jackson Township farm. It meant admitting defeat. But I chose to protect my family’s dignity and future over my pride. If I hadn’t made that call, we might’ve been swallowed by debt. Instead, we found our way to Colorado, and then to California. Sometimes, starting over is the only way forward.”
9. "What lessons did you learn from moving so many times—from Pennsylvania to Iowa, to Colorado, and finally to California?"
“The soil changes, but the soul stays steady. Wherever you go, you bring yourself—your work ethic, your hopes, your family. I learned that home isn’t a place—it’s the people who sit at your table each night, no matter the roof above.”
10. "What legacy or memory do you hope your grandchildren and great-grandchildren carry forward?"
“I hope they remember that I never gave up. That through hardship, illness, and loss, I kept working, kept loving, kept building. I hope they plant roots where they land, and grow strong like trees. And that they know their story didn’t begin with them—it began with a man who carved a path westward, not just with wagons, but with faith.”
Would you like these turned into a family keepsake narrative or a “fireside storytelling” version for sharing with others?
4) Oh my, I am so tempted to say YES to turn all of those ideas and questions into family keepsake narratives. So watch for future blog posts, but I doubt that I will do every ancestor and every question as a blog post!
One option is to do just one question a day and have a ten chapter book that could be given to my relatives as an eBook and put into my FOREVER account for a number of close ancestors. Perhaps doing the ancestral couple makes more sense. The eBook could include my AI-assisted ABC Biography, my genealogical sketch, the poem/song/podcast about the person, plus any historical fiction accounts I might write about "a day in the life" or "how did they do that" or "what was life like."
Of course, all of this AI material is historical fiction since I don't have details of every day or every year in the lives of my ancestors. Each ancestor is unique and has unique experiences. I don't know about the education, thoughts, wisdom, decision-making skills, temperaments, emotions, figures of speech or sound of the voice of any of my ancestors older than my parents and maternal grandparents. My ancestors were human, imperfect, had to support themselves and their family, had health and economic challenges, and did the best they could with their life situations. But does it matter if I am presenting these as seemingly real answers or conversations? I don't think so - because my purpose is to enable my relatives to better understand the lives of their ancestors. The AI-generated responses are much better than any response I have in my memory bank or could dream up.
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