Wednesday, 3/16

I guess I can rest a little easier on at least one account.

Last week I wrote about how a very small percentage of my DNA may have come from people who could have been Ukrainian. Or, at the very least, from somewhere near the what is now the border between Poland and Ukraine. Well, after a little checking I can now say that I probably don't have a long-long relative currently running for their life.

It's a tragedy that two and a half million (and counting) other people are, and it's getting a little sad just sitting back and watching it happen, knowing there's not much one can do. But that's a story for another day.

As I had mentioned last week a woman married into the Schwemin family right before they emigrated from Prussia to Marquette Township in the late 1800s. That woman accounts for the very small percentage of Polish/Eastern European DNA I carry around, and if you remember the blue section of this map--

There was a slight chance she came from what may be modern day Ukraine. Well, thanks to Loraine, who has developed into quite the genealogical researcher, I now know that my great-great-great grandmother came from a town in what is now central Poland. She moved north with her family into what is now Stobno, Poland, but which was then part of Germanic Prussia. She met my great-great-great grandfather, they had a bunch of kids, and one of those kids led the exodus to the US.

That doesn't mean that somewhere among the vast mass of refugees I don't have a ninth cousin, but at least there are none that I can find so far.

Loraine's also found out interesting things about a few of my other ancestors, as well. The funniest may be, considering what tomorrow is, the best. Apparently, I had another great-great-great-something in Ireland who had a little problem with the local police. Well, actually, a big problem, in that records from the 1800s show that he had a habit getting arrested, two or three times a week, for public intoxication. After spending waaaaay too much time in jail he was given a choice—stop drinking or leave the country. And, given the fact that I'm here in the US today, you can guess which choice he made.

You know how everyone has a crazy uncle in their family? Well, my crazy uncle (or crazy great great great grandfather or whatever) started a chain of events that ended up with me actually being here these days. So, crazy Irish uncle or grandfather or whoever got kicked out of the old country...

Thanks???

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)