52 Ancestors 2025: Favorite Name, or, “What’s in a Name, Anyway?” Puritan Style

 

It’s hard to pick a single favorite name in the family tree, though I’ve always found it interesting how often the name “David” appears throughout our history. As I explored my New England lines, I was drawn to some of the more unusual names that emerged—names like Hepzibah and Deliverance. That led me to dig a little deeper into several generations of colonial ancestors from Middlesex County, Massachusetts.

My New England ancestors were Pilgrims and Puritans, that is, English Reformed Protestants who emigrated from England seeking religious freedom. As followers of John Calvin, they emphasized Biblical scholarship and literacy, and naming children was a serious matter. They often chose names straight from scripture, hoping their children would live up to the virtues of Biblical prophets and leaders. A child named David, for instance, had big shoes to fill. They also favored virtue names like Faith and Hope, which are still seen today. Names associated with saints or those with Latin or Germanic roots, more common in Catholic or Anglican traditions, were typically avoided, as they clashed with the Puritan ethos (but that’s a theological rabbit hole for another time).

Let’s start with my family—the children of Edward Fay and Sarah Joslin (birth years in parentheses). Their children, born in the mid-18th century, reflect a blend of traditional Puritan and evolving naming trends. Among the more Biblical names: Hepzibah (1740), Sarah (1742), Israel (1744), Abijah (1748), Joanna (1749), Eunice (1751), Nathan (1757), Elijah (1759), David (1761), and Solomon (1764). But there are also outliers like Luther (1745) and Edward (1747), which may suggest shifting preferences or family influences.

The mother in the family above, Sarah Joslin, my 6th-great-grandmother who was born in 1721, appears to come from a particularly pious background. Her parents, Israel Joslin and Sarah Cleveland, gave their children names that ranged from scriptural to aspirational. Among her siblings: Elizabeth (1723), Martha (1732), Nathaniel (1726), and Israel (1735/36). But four daughters carried virtue names: Patience (1720), Submit (1729), Thankful (1739), and another Patience (1740/41). That second Patience was likely named in memory of the first, who died young—a common 18th-century practice. Interestingly, the second Patience was born just four months after her father’s death. Perhaps her mother saw the child as both a legacy and a symbol of continuity.

Now let’s turn to another Puritan woman who has long intrigued me: Susannah Shattuck, who was born in 1643 and was the daughter of William Shattuck, one of my immigrant ancestors. Around 1661, she married Joseph Morse, whose father (also Joseph) had arrived in New England in 1634. Susannah and Joseph had seven children: Susanna (1663), Hester (1664), Joseph (1667), Samuel (1670), Mary (1672), Hannah (1674), and Jonathan (1675/76). Sadly, Joseph died in 1677, leaving Susannah a widow with young children.

She later married John Fay, another widower and a few years her junior. He brought four children of his own—John (1669), David (1671), Samuel (1673), and Mary (1675)—from his marriage to Mary Brigham, who had died in 1676. Together, John and Susannah had four more children: David (1679), Gershom (1681), Ruth (1684), and Deliverance (1686). When John died in 1690, Susannah, still relatively young, had raised a blended family of over a dozen children. She eventually married once more, to widower Thomas Brigham, the older brother of John Fay's first wife, Mary Brigham, and the couple lived to old age.

What makes Susannah remarkable—beyond raising this large, blended family and having three husbands—is that she’s both my 8th- and 9th-great-grandmother. Her Morse and Fay descendants later intermarried, bringing both lines back together.

Looking at her children’s names, we see a strong preference for Biblical choices—until the final child, Deliverance, a classic Puritan virtue name. “Deliverance” reflects the Biblical yearning for freedom from bondage, a theme that resonated with the persecuted English settlers in Massachusetts Bay. They found spiritual deliverance in the New World, though not moral perfection—evident in their treatment of Native peoples and the tragic events of the Salem witch trials.

Family history, like American history, is rarely pure or simple. But among these New England ancestors were people who valued education, faith, community, and industry. And from their small, windswept villages and rocky farms came ideals that helped spark revolutions and reform movements in the generations that followed.

Photo:

Pilgrim's Grace by Henry Mosler, Allentown Art Museum, Allentown, PA

52 Ancestors 2025: FAN Club - The Gilmartin Story, Part 1?

 

This week’s prompt was a new one for me. “FAN” stands for Friends, Acquaintances, and Neighbors—a term used in cluster research, which involves studying the people surrounding your ancestor. This approach can be especially helpful when records are sparse or when you are stuck with a genealogical brick wall. It is also useful if your ancestor had a common surname (like Smith or Jones) or one with many spelling variations (hello, “Cossart” family). By examining the people your ancestor interacted with, you can often uncover additional clues about their life.

One of the lines I have been researching is the Gilmartin family. My 3rd-great-grandparents, John Gilmartin (b. 1812) and Mary Gallaher, were married in Ireland. Their son Anthony, my 2nd-great-grandfather, has a well-documented Civil War service and post-war life in Missouri, but details about the family’s earlier years are harder to pin down.

According to published family history, John and Mary had some means but chafed under British rule. They decided to pursue farming in America and settled near Chicago. Tragically, John was reportedly killed in a fight on October 10, 1848, leaving Mary a widow with three young children. Based on the stories that were handed down, she was remarried to a man named Henry Hyde, but at her death, she was buried beside John.

Can we piece together this struggling family using the FAN method? The answers range from “yes and no” to “it depends.” Thanks to more online records, we’ve been able to fill in some gaps and correct a few old assumptions. While the picture is coming together, some pieces are still missing.

Census records confirm that John and Mary were born in Ireland, but we’ve yet to find a birth or marriage record for them in County Mayo or any passenger lists. The gravestone lists John’s birth year as 1812 and Mary’s as 1829, which seems questionable given that their son Anthony was born around 1840.

The 1840 U.S. Census shows a John Gilmartin living in Will County, Illinois. There are two people who match a couple in their 20s and a child under 5, but also two older males in the household, possibly boarders or extended family. By 1850, Mary appears in the St. Louis census, age 30, with children Anthony (11), Bridget (8), John (5), and Alice (1), along with a 20-year-old Ann Gallaher—possibly her sister. Interestingly, John’s will was recorded in Macoupin County, Illinois, suggesting that the family, including John, had relocated there in the 1840s, and that Mary may have moved to St. Louis for support after his death.

The early 1850s brought Henry Hyde into the picture, another Irish immigrant. Although there’s no marriage record, his children's records list their mother as Mary Gallaher. Interestingly, in 1857, “Mary Gilmartin” (not Mary Hyde) was appointed guardian of her four children, alongside Thomas Gallaher—possibly her brother. In 1858, John Davidson replaced her as guardian of the remaining three children, suggesting Mary had died. Her gravestone confirms her passing in 1858 and her continued use of the Gilmartin name. There’s no known gravestone for young John Gilmartin, who likely died around this time.

What became of the children? Anthony, around 18 when Mary died, joined the Union Army and served honorably. Bridget married a man 24 years her senior, Joseph Gerlach, who also served the Union cause, in 1860. Alice, only about 9 years old when Mary died, appears in the 1860 census living with Dr. Charles Holiday’s family in Verdin, Illinois. She eventually was married to George Wright. Henry Hyde, listed as a widower that same year, is still a mystery. We can follow him through the census and through his children, but from what we know, it is hard to disprove the possibility that his spouse had the same name as Mary’s and coincidentally died around the same time.

Much of the new information has come through tracking the Gilmartin children. I have more complete records for Bridget and Alice attached to their spouses and descendents through FamilySearch, and was able to connect them to their ancestors. The three children eventually moved with their families to Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma. As for the others—Ann Gallaher, Thomas Gallaher, John Davidson, and Dr. Holiday—I haven’t uncovered much yet. But with patience and a bit more digging, maybe the FAN method will reveal more, and this story will have a sequel.

Photo and historical credit: Gilmartin History, Shiela Fast McReynolds, 1999

52 Ancestors 2025: Artistic

 

This may not be the hardest topic to come up with stories for, but there’s a twist—not just one, but two prominent American artists, both distantly related to each other... and to me.

Sometime after I turned 11 or 12, people started asking, “Are you related to the artist?”meaning Mary Cassatt. For a long time, I just shrugged and said, “I guess.” These questions came even more often after I moved to the Philadelphia Main Line (IYKYK), home to at least two Cassatt mansions. I started to suspect that, since “Cassatt” was derived from “Cossart,” there must be a close family connection.

I checked genealogy books at a historical library outside Philladelphia and saw her lineage traced back a few generations, but still no direct link. She did seem to be from the wealthier side of the family.

It wasn’t until I discovered the Ancestral File records at a local Family History Center, and dug into some books at the Library of Congress, that I finally traced the connection. Mary Stevenson Cassatt, the famous artist, and her brother Alexander Johnston Cassatt, President of the Pennsylvania Railroad, are my third cousins, three times removed. (This was also when I learned what “third cousin” and “times removed” actually meant.) Mary’s third cousin was David Cassatt, their shared great-grandfather being Francis Cossart, the Revolutionary War patriot.

Interestingly, Mary never married, but people, especially women and children, were central subjects in her art. There’s a certain humanity that shines through her Impressionistic style (at least to my untrained eye), and it’s no surprise her works attract crowds at the museums I’ve visited. And yes, sometimes I wish I wore a name tag, baseball-player style, reading: Yes, I’m related to Mary Cassatt.

But wait—there’s more!

My immigrant ancestor, Jacques Cossart, was a Huguenot who cast his lot with the Dutch and arrived in New Amsterdam in 1665. One quirky legacy of his line is the seemingly endless variation in the spelling of “Cossart”—likely due to English speakers wrestling with French pronunciation. On my side, descended from Jacques’s son David, the name evolved from Cossart to Cossairt to Cassatt. From another son, Anthony, came the variation “Cozad.”

Which brings us to another American artist: Robert Henri (pronounced Hen-rye), born Robert Henry Cozad in Cincinnati, Ohio. After a family scandal (involving a shooting), the Cozads fled west to Denver, and all dropped their last names. He later settled in Philadelphia and became a key figure in the “American Realism” movement, more famously known as the “Ashcan School.” His students included Edward Hopper and George Bellows, who painted gritty, unvarnished city life. Like muckraking journalists and novelists such as Theodore Dreiser and Stephen Crane, these artists showed a rawer side of booming urban America.

Did I inherit any artistic talent? Hard to say. My sister Mary Ann earned a BFA and painted beautifully, but I’ve mostly worked in temporary media: Magic Slate, beach sand, chalkboard, Etch-A-Sketch, and MagnaDoodle. I can sing a little and once played clarinet and saxophone but not very well. My kids, however, have some serious musical chops, though I credit their mother’s side for that.

p.s. After I took some of the family to the National Gallery of Art, did I post my granddaughter with attitude like the little girl in the armchair? You bet I did.

Photos: 

Little Girl in a Blue Armchair by Mary Cassatt, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC

Snow in New York by Robert Henri, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC

52 Ancestors 2025: Wedding Bells – Ben and Mary Hizar

 

One very interesting wedding in our family history is that of my great-aunt Mary and Uncle Ben, which took place in April 1936. Aunt Mary, born Mary Fast, was the daughter of Orin Taylor Fast and Nellie McWilliams, who are fondly remembered as Grandma and Grandpa Fast. She was only about five years older than my mother and was something of a big sister to her. Mary worked as a teacher, first in a one-room schoolhouse and later in a larger, consolidated school. When we visited their home in Barton County, Missouri, we always stayed at their house. As a child, I would eagerly read through the Golden Book Encyclopedia set they kept on the bookshelf.

A photo from their wedding is like a snapshot of a Fast family reunion (which still happens every summer). The bride and groom stand on the right, with Grandma and Grandpa Fast on the left. In the center, wearing a dark dress and turning her head, is my grandmother, Ruby (Fast) Reed. Ruby and my grandfather Steve were no longer together, so he’s absent, but their children are easy to spot. My mom, Ruth, stands just over Ruby’s left shoulder, while the boys are dressed in bib overalls and ties. Uncle Jim stands with his hands in his pockets, and the twin Uncles, John and Joe, sit on a bench, sporting matching ties. I can also recognize Mary and Ruby’s sister, Aunt Dixie (Eccher), standing with a little girl in front of her—likely Dixie Mae.

This picture also tells a deeper story about the family. After Ruby and Steve separated, Ruby and her children moved back to Grandma and Grandpa Fast’s farm. Ruby and my mother both taught in local schools (with many of their students being cousins). Mom used to tell stories of riding a horse to school until she could afford a car. I doubt anyone took out a second mortgage to pay for the wedding; perhaps everyone pitched in.

Though Aunt Mary and Uncle Ben never had children of their own, they were beloved by many nieces, nephews, and eventually great-nieces and nephews. Mary also served as the Fast family historian. It was in her home that I first began learning about the family’s past, and much of what we know today is thanks to the books she published.

52 Ancestors 2025: The Reunion of Ben McWIlliams

 

We’ve met my 2nd-great-grandfather Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams before and learned about his harrowing experiences in various Confederate prison camps. He was paroled from a Savannah prison after 13 months of captivity. That winter, Ben was granted a furlough to return home to his family in Northumberland County, Pennsylvania. In his later writings about the war and his return to civilian life, he reflected on that homecoming.

He first visited Trevorton to see his grandfather, Benjamin Knauss, at his inn. At first, his cousins didn’t recognize him, but one finally did, exclaiming, “My God, there’s Ben McWilliams!” Grandpa Knauss greeted him with a hearty, “I thought them damned buggers had killed you.” Ben described his capture and explained that he had no choice in surrendering (apparently, Grandpa Knauss believed a soldier should fight to the death) which seemed to satisfy the old man. The next day, Ben helped with the hog butchering before heading to Shamokin to see his parents. “I got there after dark, knocked at their door, and when they opened it, they thought the dead had come to life.”

At a barn raising the following day, he saw more neighbors and relatives. His uncle Will Follmer, who had opposed the war, told him the rebels were nearly finished. When asked why Grant hadn’t yet taken Richmond, Ben replied, “We didn’t want it, that we were holding old Bob Lee up there in that corner of the Confederacy, while Grant was surrounding him on all sides and cutting off his rations.” He added, “Whenever Grant moves in the Spring, mind what I tell you, the thing is ended.”

Ben McWilliams endured an ordeal far beyond what he imagined when he enlisted in a burst of patriotism. He suffered greatly, which made his homecoming all the more meaningful, and it is interesting that, after all he had gone through, Ben was expected to help in the community projects: hog butchering and barn raising. 

Ben rejoined his regiment, the 16th Pennsylvania Cavalry, and participated in the final Appomattox Campaign. As he had predicted, when Grant moved, the war ended. Afterward, Ben headed west to Iowa and later settled in Missouri.

52 Ancestors 2025: Military

 

I’ve already touched on some of my family’s military experience this year. There was the ordeal Benjamin McWilliams underwent as a prisoner of war during the Civil War, and the unusual prisoner/adoption story of Christian Fast during the American Revolution. We also explored the militia service of the Cossarts, also during the Revolutionary War.

This time, I want to focus on two more soldiers who rose to defend the Union during the Civil War: David Cossairt (Cassatt), my great-grandfather, and Anthony Gilmartin, my 2nd great-grandfather. Unlike Pvt. McWilliams, they did not leave behind personal memoirs of their time in service; however, through service records, unit histories, and pension files, we can get a feel for what their experiences were like. This is where libraries, archives, and online resources came in for me.

Both men served in the Western Theater, in battles that may not have reached the fame of Gettysburg but were crucial to the Union victory.

My first experience using ChatGPT last year involved piecing their stories together. I had copies of their service and pension records from the National Archives, collected back in the last century. By scanning these handwritten documents, I was able to generate digital transcripts, filling in words that had been misread or were previously unclear. I then entered the service details, including dates and locations, and let AI assemble a narrative. Perhaps influenced by the dramatic accounts of wartime disability, the resulting stories were a bit flowery, yet they gave new life to these old records. I also used ChatGPT to identify and verify online references to supplement the story.

David Cossairt

We’ve already met David, but here is his military story:

On May 9, 1864, at the age of 20, David volunteered for the 146th Ohio National Guard Regiment, Company G. This unit, comprised primarily of men from his community, was mustered into service during a critical phase of the war. The 146th was part of the Hundred Days Men—a strategy employed by the Union to bolster forces for a crucial summer campaign. David and his comrades were assigned to guard duty and logistical support in Fayetteville, West Virginia, and Washington, D.C. Though not on the front lines, their role was essential in maintaining the Union’s strategic foothold and ensuring that frontline soldiers had the support they needed.

After serving with the 146th, David’s unwavering commitment to the Union cause led him to re-enlist with the 183rd Ohio Infantry Regiment on September 26, 1864. This newly formed regiment was quickly thrust into the heart of the conflict, joining the Army of the Cumberland under Major General George H. Thomas. The 183rd played a significant role in the Franklin-Nashville Campaign—a series of battles that proved decisive in the Western Theater.

One of the most notable engagements David participated in was the Battle of Franklin on November 30, 1864. This brutal confrontation saw Union forces repelling repeated assaults by Confederate troops under General John Bell Hood. The 183rd held their ground with remarkable tenacity, contributing to the devastating losses suffered by the Confederate Army.

Following the victory at Franklin, David and the 183rd marched to Nashville, where they once again faced Hood’s Army in the Battle of Nashville (December 15–16, 1864). The Union’s decisive counteroffensive shattered the Confederate Army of Tennessee. The 183rd was crucial to this triumph, further cementing their place in Union military history.

As the war drew to a close, David fell ill. On April 10, 1865, he was admitted to the U.S.A. General Hospital in Troy, New York. The final months of his service were spent in recovery, far from the battlefields. He was discharged on May 18, 1865, and his military career officially ended on May 27, 1865.

Born on January 23, 1844, in Warren County, Ohio, David’s story is a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made by those who fought to preserve the Union and end the scourge of slavery in America.

Anthony Gilmartin

Anthony Gilmartin also served in the Western Theater, although he spent a considerable portion of his service on the disability list. Here is a summary of his story:

Anthony Gilmartin was born on January 10, 1840, in Cook County, Illinois, and died on January 7, 1918, in Hannon, Barton County, Missouri. He spent much of his early life in Illinois and was living in Pleasant Plains, Sangamon County when he enlisted in the Union Army.

Gilmartin enlisted at age 21 in Company A, 32nd Illinois Infantry Regiment—a volunteer unit raised in central Illinois. He was mustered into service on August 29, 1861, though one affidavit later stated he held the rank of corporal at some point. His early service was marked by hardship. While stationed at Camp Butler in November 1861, he was stricken with a severe case of rheumatism, which became so serious he was sent home.

Despite this, Gilmartin returned to duty in late December 1861 and participated in major campaigns across the Western Theater. He served at Cairo, Illinois, and then moved with Union forces to Fort Henry and Pittsburg Landing (Shiloh), participating in some of the roughest fighting of the war.

In June and July 1862, while stationed at Grand Junction, Tennessee, his health again declined—this time due to a severe eye condition later diagnosed as amaurosis, a disease causing partial or complete blindness.

On January 2, 1864, Gilmartin reenlisted as a Veteran Volunteer at Natchez, Mississippi, and was mustered in at Vicksburg on February 2, 1864. But cold, wet conditions during that winter severely worsened his eye problems. He was eventually discharged for disability on September 12, 1864, at Camp Butler. Though official documents first noted that he was discharged for reenlistment, later records clarified that his final discharge was due to near-total blindness resulting from disease and exposure during service.

In reading these records, I was struck by the ill health suffered by my Western ancestors. One possible explanation is that many of those living “out west” were from rural farms, not crowded city centers, and may not have developed resistance to common infectious diseases of the time. Once placed in crowded military camps, where sanitation was poor and exposure was constant, their immune systems were quickly overwhelmed. Add to that the harsh weather, poor nutrition, and stress of battle, and it’s easy to understand how even the strong fell ill.

52 Ancestors 2025: Wheels

 

This is less a story about wheels than about the lack of them.

The Cossart side of my family arrived in New Amsterdam by ship, mostly from the Netherlands. Seeking new farmland, successive generations moved westward during pre-colonial times—first to New Jersey, then to Pennsylvania, settling in the Conewago area east of Gettysburg. This mixed Huguenot/Dutch community was linked by family and religious ties. They stayed together during colonial times and remained close when the American Revolution began. Many were patriots; young men joined local militias, and my ancestor, Francis Cossart, was active in the Committees of Correspondence and served in the Pennsylvania legislature, helping to craft the state constitution.

With the Revolution came the opening of lands west of the Appalachian Mountains, though not with the full consent of the Indigenous peoples who had lived there for generations. Daniel Boone had explored beyond the Cumberland Gap and established the Wilderness Road into Kentucky’s Bluegrass region. He and his brother Squire encouraged settlers from the colonies to emigrate west. The “Low Dutch” colonists took two routes: one down the Ohio River to the area now centered around Louisville, and one through the Cumberland Gap via the Wilderness Road to the region near Fort Boonesborough. My ancestors chose the latter.

A group of families left the Conewago colony and spent time around Shepherdstown in Berkeley County (now West Virginia) before making their way to Fort Boonesborough, Kentucky around March 1780. Their journey wasn’t by wagon (the Wilderness Road was more trail than road) so they packed their goods onto horses and traveled through dense forest. The group settled in the White Oak Spring Station area in 1781, building cabins and establishing farms.

Among these settlers was Pieter Cossart and his family. He had married Maria Durie, whose extended family included several Durie (or Duree) households as well as the Demarests (Demaree, originally Des Marets) and Bantas. But these were dangerous times. The British supplied weapons to Native American tribes resisting the loss of their lands. One attack on White Oak Spring Station in March 1781 killed four of Maria’s siblings: Petrus, Angenitje, Hendrick, and Daniel. Petrus’s wife managed to escape with their three children. Pieter Cossart himself was killed the following summer while out picking blackberries.

This was an era when travel to the frontier wasn’t along roads—it was over rough trails or waterways, and only in well-settled areas did actual roads exist. These were precarious times, and as the frontier moved west, so did the violent struggles between European settlers and Native Americans. This part of American history cannot be forgotten. At the time, colonial society largely believed in the settlers’ superiority, though some European and American philosophers viewed Indigenous people as living in a kind of natural state, free from monarchy, which influenced Enlightenment thought.

Coming from a family of early European colonists, stories like these are woven throughout my genealogical record. They are complex and difficult but important to understand, as we reflect on the times and acknowledge the errors of the past.

Wilderness Road picture: Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1797882

52 Ancestors 2025: At the Library

 

It seems that libraries have been part of my life since the days of Harold and the Purple Crayon, but for genealogists, they are truly indispensable.

My first serious genealogical research took place at a local FamilySearch (then Family History) Center in late 1994 or early 1995. Armed with a blank pedigree chart and a flyer handed to me at an Oktoberfest celebration, I opened the door—and they showed me how to begin. Soon, names started showing up in the International Genealogical Index and the Ancestral File. The skeleton of a family tree began to take shape.

I had names, but I wanted more. Living in the DC area gave me access to some of the nation’s best repositories: the National Archives and the Library of Congress. The latter is truly a font of information, and many mornings I trekked into the city to look up published family histories, making copies of the relevant pages.

Now, in a new century, libraries have expanded—if not physically, then virtually. My local library subscribes to several databases, some of which I can access from home, others only on-site. These services are also available at local FamilySearch Centers. But the granddaddy of them all is out west in Salt Lake City: the main FamilySearch Center, with rows of computers and plenty of helpful volunteers. On my visit last year, they introduced me to the new full-text search features on the FamilySearch website.

After 30 years of genealogical research, I can say libraries have proven their worth. In exploring vast stores of information, I’ve hit dead ends that wouldn’t budge—but I’ve also had those “Aha!” moments, when a computer search revealed a new lineage, later confirmed by a publication. To get the most out of a visit, here are a few tips:

• Plan ahead. Write down your questions or the topics you want to focus on. A notebook is a big help. Also, some libraries may have restrictions on what can be brought into their research rooms.
• Bring what you need. For me, that includes the notebook with my research plan and notes from earlier sessions.
• Pack your electronics. A laptop or iPad makes things easier. Keep genealogical data in a cloud service along with your local database.
• Take detailed notes. Record what worked and what didn’t. Jot down names of possible relatives, dates, and locations—sometimes those clues can be followed up at home.
• Know how to save your finds. You can often email information to yourself. Downloads may be limited to local access, so thumb drives can be hit or miss, and not very secure. Logging into your cloud storage usually solves the problem. Just remember to log out!
• Ask for help. Volunteers are usually available and eager to assist. They may not be professional genealogists, but they bring valuable experience and knowledge.

There’s a lot more to be said about online repositories, but nothing quite compares to the atmosphere of a library and the extra resources that come with an in-person visit.