These freedoms meant more to them than their lives. And they did win them for us, for all the Americans yet unborn. My ancestor survived the war, and came home to his family. Rejoicing in the opportunities of the newly formed nation, he moved his family from their long-established home in New England to the untamed wilderness of western New York.

There they created rich farmland by draining swamps and clearing forests. Like the beautiful patchwork quilts the women sewed for warmth at night, the farms spread across the rolling hills. Velvet squares of golden wheat, corduroy pieces of rows of beans and lettuce, French knots of baled hay.

They worked hard, they loved deeply, and above all the cherished their country and praised their God. The men toiled far from the house, raising field crops and tending herds of animals. Their women worked just as hard beside them for the family economy, tending the dooryard vegetable garden and raising chickens and gathering eggs. All the children helped from an early age, gathering berries, fetching eggs from the chicken coop, shelling peas, cracking nuts and carefully extracting the meats.

Because they stayed closer to the house, the women had the task of minding and educating the children. It was understood that the men would secure a living, make a home, and fight in wars when necessary, and that the women would be the carriers of the culture. It was the mission of these American daughters, generation after generation, to pass on the values of patriotism, the work ethic, their faith in God, a sense of personal responsibility, and the encompassing warmth of family love.

Down through the following generations, there has been no diminution of that legacy. My cousins still farm the land. The dear ones who have gone before us sleep in a family cemetery at the edge of the farm. Trees shade the little plot and moss covers the tumbled old hand-carved stones. It is a beautiful place where I go on visits to renew my promise to them to guard and value their gift to me, to pass it to my children in turn.

I cherish the freedom of _expression they have secured for me, by fighting to free this country and by working to build it. And so I speak out about what I think are the wrongs of the world, and I will continue to speak out. I wish for all the citizens of the globe the precious freedoms that are my heritage.

Recently I was threatened because of my coverage of the situation in Iran. Clearly those who attempt to influence by fear have no concept of my soul, shaped by generations in the legacy of freedom and armored by faith in God. Those threats sharpen my pen, redouble my efforts.

Cowards who sever heads, gouge out eyes, saw off hands, sell children into slavery, hang their own people from cranes, and flay them slowly to an agonizing death by stoning can only function with the support of a mob. Alone they would be craven fools, found cowering in a hole like Saddam. They believe in horror, they think there is a force in fear.

But no. There is an unstoppable force in the love of freedom, in the love that pours onto creation from its beneficent Maker, in the love that we get from God and give to our fellowmen. Fear is like the dark in a room, not something of real substance. Dark vanishes at the flick of a switch. Fear evaporates in the light of this powerful love of freedom.

When I first came online with American Daughter, a reader wrote a comment that I saved and cherished. "Yours is a voice out of the past representing a clear headed person with strong values and principles. Run for something and you have my vote. Better, write for our generation on your website and develop a loyal following to make a difference. Remind us of what we once believed and still want to believe."

I cherish freedom of _expression with all my heart. I WILL write.