George Roemer wrote Out From Rubicon late in life as a keepsake for his granddaughter, but this isn’t just a family heirloom; it’s a window into decades of hard work, service, and curiosity. In three major acts—childhood on the family farm, three years in the Peace Corps, and years advising farmers in Afghanistan—George lays out each chapter with clear, honest prose and a friendly tone that feels like a conversation over coffee.
From the first pages, you’ll feel the chill of dawn as he leads cows to milking, then you’ll travel with him across dusty roads in Kenya where he learned Swahili by day and shared jokes with local friends by night. Later, you’ll ride along on convoys in Afghanistan, witnessing both the beauty of a desert sunrise and the tension of a guarded checkpoint.
This memoir moves at its own pace, trusting that simple details—a song sung in a schoolhouse, a family meal on a verandah, the clank of milk cans—can carry big truths about home, purpose, and connection. Whether you’ve lived abroad or never left your hometown, you’ll find yourself rooting for George, marveling at his kindness, and remembering the power of a single life lived fully.
Greetings, grandchild of mine! You have been a long time coming, through no fault of your own.
It is important to note that before our European‑born ancestors settled in America, this land was populated by indigenous peoples.
Mostly from Germany, my father’s parents immigrated to America to avoid European wars and start farming in the New World.
I am a genuine farm kid! My earliest memories are of running around fields, petting animals, and sitting on machinery.
Some of my first words were German, which I learned from Grandpa and Dad speaking to cows.
I entered Hartford Union High School with 325 classmates after eight years in a one‑room country school.
Greetings, grandchild of mine! You have been a long time coming, through no fault of your own.
It is important to note that before our European‑born ancestors settled in America, this land was populated by indigenous peoples.
Mostly from Germany, my father’s parents immigrated to America to avoid European wars and start farming in the New World.
I am a genuine farm kid! My earliest memories are of running around fields, petting animals, and sitting on machinery.
Some of my first words were German, which I learned from Grandpa and Dad speaking to cows.
I entered Hartford Union High School with 325 classmates after eight years in a one‑room country school.
Copyright © 2025 George Henry Roemer. All Rights Reserved
