52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

            I have given this particular topic a lot of thought, trying to decide what direction to go with it. In the end, I thought I would share a few different ideas of what the phrase “Home Sweet Home” means to me. When I travel to places where my ancestors lived, and I walk on the same ground where they have walked, I always get that feeling of “being home.” It is a warm and comforting feeling. The area where my dad was raised in central Tennessee in particular evokes this feeling whenever I visit there. While I have never actually lived there, I have visited it many times over the years, and it definitely feels like home. And I love hearing the stories of the old days from my friends and relatives when we have reunions.   atop Hinch Mountain overlooking Sequatchie Valley The home I grew up in certainly holds a special place in my heart. My dad did a lot of the physical labor in building this house in northern New Jersey. Even though my ...

          The witness to history I would like to write about today is not about a person in my family tree, but an actual tree that has watched over and shaded the final resting place a 5x great grandfather of mine (Christopher Saur/Sower) for over 233 years. This amazing tree has witnessed so much history in its lifetime, and I would like to share its story, how I was introduced to it eight years ago, and how in some small way it has weaved its story into our own family tree. In late June 2017 I was on a family history trip by myself to explore an area about 25 miles northwest of Philadelphia PA where many of my ancestors were born, lived and passed on. I had cemeteries to visit, an old tavern to see that my 4th great grandfather ran for many years (The Harleysville Hotel), some scrapple to eat for breakfast (which no one in Fargo has ever heard of - big surprise!), and to just drive around the area to get a feel for where so many ancestors called home....

In reality, every family line eventually ends in a brick wall of sorts, due to lack of records, stories, books, DNA, etc. But sometimes a brick wall is more recent, something where there should or could be records available or knowledge to be gained, and where questions can be answered to break through that brick wall. And many times those particular brick walls remain stuck in your head, keeping you up at night, wondering what other records can be examined or what you might have missed that could be that clue you need. Anyone who does family history research has these dead ends. My particular one is my mother’s maternal great grandparents, John Merryn Reilly and his wife Matilda M. They were both born in Ireland between 1830 and 1835 and immigrated to the United States sometime before 1958. I have viewed many webinars on how to do Irish research, and what I have learned is that if you don’t know the area in Ireland where your ancestors are from, it’s almost impossible to figure it...

      As a preface, my apologies for those reading this if it is just too emotional. But for me it somehow   illustrates the closeness siblings share with each other. Each of us are different in many ways, but we share the same upbringing and memories that are unique to us alone.   I didn’t start this post with the specific intention of making this about my youngest sibling,   but the more I wrote, the more necessary it felt to do so. I am blessed to be in good health and to have two of my three siblings (brothers) still here, but that is not the case for my youngest brother, Roger. I was talking to my granddaughter a few weeks ago (senior in high school), and I mentioned my brother Roger, who died in a terrible car accident when he was 18. She said “I didn’t know you had another brother!” Wow that really hit me. I thought I had talked about him from time to time with her, but I guess not. So I am going to rectify that now. Roger was born in August 1961...