The Trash and Treasure of Your Roots

Are You Ready to Know Where You Came From?

Why does it matter where our lineage comes from? To some inquiring souls it can grant them a sense of foundation and belonging. There are those that would like the opportunity to identify with a nation having a proud history to help elevate their own confidence, sprinkled with a bit of self-importance. I am in no way saying that finding out my true ancestry has been life changing.

If truth be told, once I set forth on this reverse pilgrimage, I was absolutely appalled at some of the discoveries. Ridiculously enough, once I embarked on the Ancestry DNA journey as so many others have, I discovered that my lineage was nothing more than a European casserole.

My siblings pursued the endeavor around the same timeframe. We were all excitedly communicating with each other as the results were soon to come in. Then we received it. Hoping for a tidbit of something unique, distinctive, or exotic. Instead, what was unearthed was a main course of Northwestern European with small side dishes of the surrounding lands mingled in.

Why the frustration and disappointment? What’s wrong with being of simply majority British ancestry? And why are we surprised anyway? Nonetheless, in the late 18th century we all came very close to speaking with a British accent and paying in shillings.

While much of the world’s population cannot absolutely guarantee that they know where their lineage originated from, they can come reasonably close at determining their ancestry. Those residing in the United States of America, if not of Native American origin, can reasonably ensure their ancestors hailed from a faraway land. Everyone knows our country’s history; our nation is a mere infant as compared to lands with rich history dating back some hundreds and hundreds of years.

Even as a child, it always interested me when my mother would speak of her ancestors and what she thought she knew of them. What she knew of my maternal grandmother is that she was born and raised in Perry County, Alabama in 1918 and that her origin was that of Scots Irish and Native American. She would tell me stories that my maternal grandmother’s ancestor was an Indian (Native American) princess, which as a seven-year-old girl was majestical and captivating. Although it is known to some that stories of heritage coming from an Indian princess are simply a myth common in the American South.

She would dig out boxes of vintage photos that she inherited from her late mother and proceed to tell me who she thought the woman was in the portrait resting in an unnatural position in the back of a horse drawn carriage staring through the camera as though she wanted you to know her story. Or the photograph of a very elderly man resting in an old wooden chair atop of a wooden porch that was being held up by uneven stones. The appearance of his face and state of his posture gave the implication that in order for him to sustain, he must have put his body through hell.

But do we really know where these people that passed on their traits came from, whether it be physically, physiologically, or mentally?

Just to confirm and lay our findings to rest, I mounted the genealogy transport online using documented family trees and historical documents on the quest for anything remotely different. What I found was that nearly all of my documented ancestors came from Northwestern Europe with a few touches of France, Ireland, etc. BUT excitedly enough, I came across a couple of documented Native American descendants from the Waccamaw tribe in North Carolina! Undoubtedly not an Indian princess, however distinctive enough that we were satisfied at the finding.

Astonishingly enough, there have been family members that find my fascination with ancestry amusing. Of course, I find their lack of interest fascinating all the same.

Some people are attracted to only the present and impending future. They say it doesn’t matter where we come from. How is understanding the roots of our bloodline going to benefit me? My adult son with a trivial amount of life experience behind him and lacking conviction on many matters, suggested he would rather stick a fork in his eye rather than go on the roots journey with me. Just a simple fellow born and raised in Tennessee, he straightforwardly stated, “I’m an Appalachian American and that’s all that matters.” Fair enough.

So, I moved on to the next child, my college age daughter, who has a compassionate heart of gold and assumed she would share the same interest. Her response to the curiosity of her ancestry was simply, “It’s cool I guess.”

This daughter stated that the most appealing part of her lineage is going to be when her own descendants investigate and unearth that the hospital she was born in is in fact now a Publix supermarket and she was birthed somewhere between the produce and baking aisle.

Ultimately, I approached my last and final offspring, my daughter who is inching towards her second decade on earth. The clever, thrill-seeking child that seems to have a compelling opinion on most everything surprised me with her response of interest.

Thus, we leapt into familysearch.org on a voyage that took us through many of the same countries that were found when testing our DNA. Nonetheless, there were a few findings that were unexpected. Some family member’s lines were not well documented, but the ones that were, left us stupefied at what we found. In tandem, we were ashamed when we first discovered that an ancestor was a callous slave owner.

There was written documentation from town residents and family members that told of the peculiar ways that my 3 x Great Grandfather treated those in his charge and that he was not known for being an amiable man by any means. He was nicknamed “Bylun Jim,” for the way boiling was pronounced in the deep south in those days.

He had a bad temper and allegedly got into a fight with a fellow farmer, bit the man’s finger off and threw it into a river so as not to incriminate himself. For punishment, he’d place a slave in a barrel in which he’d nailed shut and then roll the barrel down a hill. It was also recorded that during the time of the Civil War, he was in the city of Mobile, Alabama on business when he overheard two Union Army soldiers saying that Richmond, Virginia had just fallen to the Union. He knew that the slaves would then be freed, and he would probably lose a great deal of money. The steamboat was bringing the news up the river, so he made his way on horseback to Lower Peach Tree Landing trying to reach it before the steamboat. He traveled quickly, putting a bullet in his mouth to keep it from getting dry. This ignominious ancestor beat the steamboat back to the current day Wilcox County, Alabama and sold all his slaves in order to profit before the news arrived that all were liberated.

With a bad taste in our mouths at our regrettable relations to what we were expecting to be a rewarding discovery; we were determined to continue our hunt.

Just like when you are walking through the forest and accidentally stumble on a jutting out root, when you explore your family tree, you don’t know quite what you are looking for until it trips you. I lost my footing first when I found a story of an ancestor of the English Colonies that was involved in the 1666 Patawomeck Tribe massacre that nearly wiped out an entire tribe. Then again when my family tree created an hourglass shape in the mid-1800s as two first cousins married and reproduced. I personally am hoping this marriage was only due to the lack of options in the small rural Alabama community and not out of lust or desire.

Climbing through the tree we found a few more respectable discoveries in that one of my ancestors on my maternal grandmother’s side was the Mayor of London. Subsequently, there was an additional relative that was the Constable of Windsor Castle in England in 1484. However small, it was still noteworthy in my sphere of captivation.

Ultimately, after excavating through what I would consider to be relics and remains of titles that appeared to be streamlined folks as myself, I found my monument. I took pleasure in uncovering that my 21st Great Grandfather was Robert the II King of Scots, also known as Robert the Steward.

Now could there have been some inaccuracies or blunders between the bough and the offshoot? Without question, yes.

It also does not help matters that I am quite possibly the biggest skeptic in the state of Tennessee. Despite this possible oversight, I eagerly revealed the find to my husband. His reaction was one of comical dubiousness. His only request was that after obtaining this knowledge, that I not make any irrational household demands since I allegedly descend from nobility.

As you can see, conducting a deep thinking into your very existence has its upsides and downsides. With the evolution of societal norms in history, such as incestual relations, slavery, or the slaughter of blameless people; it may have you reconsidering if you truly want to know your family pedigree. If you have no problem with omitting the parts that repulse you, then the trek through the limbs of your menage can be quite satisfying.

Having said that, if you may get offended easily by a shameful past or finding a few skeletons in your closet, it may be best to just be happy with who you are in the moment.