When I first started tracing my family history back in 1993, I had no idea how much time, effort, and sheer enjoyment this journey would bring. What started as curiosity has become a lifelong pursuit. Every genealogist—no matter their skill level—sets out with the goal of reaching as far back as possible. But over the years, I’ve realized that the real joy isn’t just in the names and dates; it’s in discovering who my ancestors were as people.
Most of my ancestors lived quiet lives, working hard to get by, facing struggles, and weathering their share of tragedies. Some might call that an unremarkable existence, but I see it differently. I understand that way of life. At the same time, I’ve also caught glimpses of the bigger moments—the opportunities, the risks taken, and the rewards earned by those who dared to reach for something more.
And then, of course, there are the scoundrels—the ones who cheated, lied, or otherwise stirred up trouble. Every family has them. Some make us laugh; others make us shake our heads. But in the end, they’re part of our story too. For better or worse, they belong to us, and understanding their world helps us make sense of our own.
As I continue this journey, I see a contrast between my maternal and paternal lines. My mother’s ancestors were rooted in the northern states, while my father’s side came from the South. Their histories are different, their paths unique, but together, they tell the story of how I came to be.
In the posts to come, I’ll be sharing some of their stories—some ordinary, some extraordinary, and all worth remembering.
