About My Research

 

Shaking the Family Tree

What could a 14th century French Marchioness and an 18th century English theif possibly have in common? Well, it's more a matter of who than what. Since 1989 I've been shaking the family tree and some remarkable stories have fallen to the ground. Altogether they compose the story of me, and the story of some of you, too. They are the stories of our ancestors: French Huguenots fleeing persecution, Palatine emigrants refugeeing from their Rhine River homes for the same reason, English adventurers, Scottish rebels, younger sons seeking their fortunes, redemptioners from the Netherlands and western Europe, and even convicts who's sentence -- transportation -- was considered "a fate worse than death".

 

These are the stories of people who without exception bid their homes and much of their kin farewell and braved a long and arduous sea journey to an uncertain fate. They were put ashore at ports like New York, Philadelphia, Annapolis, and Charleston, where they were left to make their ways in this strange, hard new land. (In some cases it was either that, or be burned at the stake. Hmmm. Let me see... Burned alive? Or exiled to the New World? Don't stand between me and the ship!!) It is difficult to imagine what a momentous decision emigration was for many, even harder to imagine how difficult your situation was if your emigration was involuntary.

 

It was a hard country, full of tough, fascinating people who had risked -- or sacrificed -- everything to make it here. They are us, and we are them, right down to our DNA. And we owe them everything.

 

The Need to Know

I don't remember a time when I wasn't aware that my great grandmother was a Holbrook before she married my great grandfather. Or that my great-great grandfather's mother was a Stokeley of the family that would later operate a well-known cannery. I used to ask my great-aunt Zella "Who was your grandfather? ... And who was his grandfather?" But to my amazement she would just shrug and reply "Grandpaw."

 

I can recall a very early childhood excursion to Chatham County, NC, with my paternal relatives to see a decrepit plantation house. It was a large crumbling two-story house with a long porch and columns. (I have ever afterward had an affinity for columns on porches and am still trying to work out how to employ them on my the deck of my little cabin). It's walls and ceilings had once been ornately and brilliantly painted. Now they were faded, chipped and weathered by time. My mysterious ancestors had lived in the home prior to the Civil War. But who were they, really? My curious child's mind worked at the question until I had a clear picture in my head of hoop skirts and buff breeches, standing on the front porch, stiff as pokers, shaded by drifts of wysteria. Very satisfactory image.

 

These incidents created in me a real desire to push past what was known and remembered by my elders and to really find out as much as I could about these people, each and every one of which had made my life possible. My aunt Thelma had done forty years worth of work on my father's family and had gathered a sizable amount of information on some of the lines; but only enough to tantalize me on others.

 

When I was eighteen I began in earnest. My father had bought me a dependable little Honda, which I frequently used in an inappropriate and unintended manner, driving through cornfields and across gullies all over the South in search of ruins and cemeteries. After so many trips, I think it could have driven itself to any one of those destinations. I was a familiar face at every courthouse and library in Southwest Virginia and central North Carolina (and some in Tennesse and Maryland too). I was on a first-name basis with archivists, historians, and librarians on both sides of the Atlantic. I lived and breathed research. I spent hours and hours and hours in state archives, halls of records, and the LDS archives. I was the Queen of Microfiche. I could decipher the spidery writing on wills as quickly and accurately as I could read typed writing. I even pursued credits at the university in American History (emphasis on southern colonial), but somewhat to my regret, stopped five hours short of a degree.

 

And I learned a lot. A lot about Colonial America, a lot about the South, a lot about my family, and a lot about myself.

 

Taking a Break for Life

 

1995 was my summer of discontent. I had worked a part time job for two years, which allowed me to continue with my research. But the job was too crazy, the pay too low, and it just wasn't feasible to continue. I had to move on, and as a result, the time and attention I could devote to research was drastically reduced. I struck out for the Washington DC area, and when I arrived, I had to focus all my energy on making it on my own in a strange new place (my own little real-life version of transportation to a new "colony"). I hustled hard, and I'm proud of where it got me and of the things I've seen and done. But I regretted that the research that so many people in my family had looked forward to learning about had fallen by the wayside.

 

Eating the Elephant

 

Since January of 1996 my genealogical work sat on the bottom shelf of the book case in my office. Binders and boxes stared in silent accusaiton when I sat down to work on other projects. Finally in 2000 I received a genealogy program for the Mac as a gift. I was thrilled, but even so, it took me about six months to psyche myself up to the point where I was ready to get started with keying all my research notes into my computer. The sheer volume of the work to be tackled was too daunting. Six years worth or photocopies and handwritten scrappets, photographs and letters, histories and family group sheets to be transcribed! And at a time in my life where I was so busy with other things. But I decided to go ahead and take that first step. It would be like eating an elephant, I decided; one little bite at a time until it was done. But as genealogists know. It is never -- ever -- done.

 

Genealogy in the Information Age

 

Something revolutionary had happened while my notes hibernated in my book case. Internet access had come into American homes and offices, and communication between researchers and access to document repositories became astronomically easier and faster. Imagine my delight when I idly typed in a set of names and got a number of hits listing pages built by distant relatives who could often supplement my pedigree charts with new information. Joy!

 

But there were problems too. The proliferation of incorrect datat in the last fifteen years is enough to make your head spin. Many researchers look askance at information gleaned from the internet, and while I will admit I've seen a fair number of errors in online trees, I wouldn't necessarily say I've seen significantly fewer errors in written (or oral) family histories, or family group sheets filed in local libraries. More often than misdirecting me, the internet has provided valuable leads and access to documents and old books (thank you, Google!) that I may  have never otherwise even know about. On the whole, the enhanced, rapid access to data and the ability to communicate and share with other researchers has been invaluable.

 

I work hard to verify and document my research, much moreso now than when I was young and in a careless hurry. I try to use primary source documents where possible, and I make the effort to source as much as I can. Nevertheless, I am unable to vouch for some of my information which has come to me second-hand (through old history books, family histories, or online GEDCOM files), so it is critical that everyone do their own research to prove or discard relationships found on this site. If you do find mistakes, I urge you to contact me with documentation of my errors.

 

Documenting My Work

My biggest regret in regard to my genealogy is that when I began, I was young and impatient, and I failed to document a great deal of my early research. Hours and hours in courthouses and libraries all over North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia yielded a wealth of information. I copied the information down faithfully, but often skipped the "tedious" process of recording my sources. I gleaned much of my early information (pre-internet) first-hand from old Deed and Will books, cemeteries, Bibles and the like, but I realize that it may be difficult for you to trust it without attributions. Where possible, I have tried to recall where I found information. Now that many records are available online through state agencies or organizations like Ancestry.com or the LDS Historical Records Search am very much more careful to devote the time and energy to documenting and providing sources with my research. In many cases at the end of notes or comments you will see a linked number in superscript that will lead you to the source information. In other cases I have included a URL or a note in [brackets] that states the source.

 

The Hunt of a Lifetime

 

I laughed earlier when I mentioned that I planned to take the genealogy slow and steady through to the end. Anyone who knows genealogy knows it is the hunt of a lifetime, and that it never ends. Literally. Whenever I break open my books and notes, my husband has become a widower. My household chores suffer, my mail goes unopened, my bills unpaid, my hair uncombed, and I am seduced by the siren song of Ancestry.com's census records or new matches on Family Tree DNA. Work and travel? Nuisances. They cut into the important business of ancestor-hunting.

 

Someone asked me once when I would be finished with this project. I stared blankly. Finished? Finished!? You never finish genealogy. I'll be finished when I run out of ancestors. Something that isn't likely to happen in my lifetime. Or yours.