Most of my family trees (I’m at 24 trees and counting) include a lot of travel. The family ancestor arrives in America, then moves three or four times, then his subsequent family moves, then another generation moves, and eventually, there are family members scattered from coast to coast across the U.S.
Not so when talking about my eldest son’s paternal lineage. That story starts and stays in Texas.
I was digging around the internet for ancestry records when I found these: prisoner of war records for Kevin’s maternal grandfather, John Frederick Flatau, a.k.a. Opa. You might notice they are all in French. Google Translate and I have become friends. Really good friends! And what Google couldn’t translate, I turned over to international friends […]
Remember this post, where I waxed eloquent about poor Elijah—my 5th great-grandfather, who died just before arriving in America from Germany?
Well, turns out that was a lie.
Things like this happen when researching ancestry. I try to be diligent. To check sources. Review information to see that it makes sense (you know, no children bearing children, times and places that make sense, that sort of thing). But even with all that, Read More »
Elijah opened his eyes to a sea of bodies, crammed shoulder to jowl at the foot of his berth: Papa, Hans and Elizabeth, the children, behind them others he didn’t recognize. His lovely Mary held his hand, ever the vigilant nurse, her great belly nudged against his arm. The fetid smell of urine and vomit mixed […]