Bound to Those Who Came Before Me
I began my family history journey in earnest around 2006, a decade after a great-aunt complied a list of ancestors she gave my sister. This list went back to 1600s Quebec. She also included a family tree that went back to my direct set of 2x great-grandparents.
My interest in where I came from dated back to middle school. Classmates, and sometimes teachers would mispronounce my name. While it was frustrating at times, I took pride in my name. It was unique and different in a region of New England with, at the time, heavy ethnic populations of those of Italian, Irish and Anglo descent.
What I would find researching my family history surprised me.
Surrounded by family history.
As I dug deeper into my late paternal grandmother’s line (she was also of French-Canadian descent), a last name popped out at me as I reviewed a baptismal record for a 4x great-grandfather. Screamed at me really, because while an extremely common name, it stood out amongst the French. The maiden name of that 4x great-grandfather’s mother was Smith. I had to look into the story of this particular 5x great-grandmother.
She was born in the Connecticut Colony to a man whose family were early settlers of New Haven and a neighboring village directly to the east. Her mother, was a member of a family (Hebert) forcibly exiled out of Novia Scotia, which at the time was part of Acadie. The house her family stayed in was a couple towns over, and still stands to this day.
For those interested in the exile of the Acadians, look up the Great Deportation. It’s a tragic chapter not only in Canadian colonial history, but American as well. I would also be remiss not to credit the acadian-home.org website for information I found on those ancestors.
It just so happens the town where I live is sandwiched between the town Mr. Smith came from, and the one where my exiled ancestors stayed. I see the house the exiled family lived in on bike rides, and see roads named after some of the families my Smith ancestor descended from himself.
I was unknowingly close in Massachusetts.
I attended college in Western Massachusetts. When I was a student up there, all I knew was my direct 2x great-grandfather was born not too far from where I was attending school. It wasn’t until years after I left the scenic, beautiful area that I discovered ancestors who actually lived there.
Some of my direct ancestors who settled in that area didn’t stay long. For reasons yet to be uncovered (probably work related), they migrated south. However, others stayed permanently. If I ever go back up to the area to visit, I should try seeking out some of their final resting places.
Conclusion
As I made some of these discoveries during my journey, it struck me how small our world actually is. For years I saw street names. For years I rode past a late 17th century colonial saltbox home. For a time I attended a university within the area where pieces of my personal history were written.
Outside of attending college, I’ve lived in the area where I was born and raised my entire life. There were times when I wish I moved somewhere else. To a place that’s not as cold in the winter, or where the cost of living is a somewhat lower. Sometimes I still do, but I think of the footsteps my ancestors once walked, and realize that perhaps I’m walking very close to them. Can’t help but think to myself it’s a special connection that I’m fortunate and grateful to have.
