Nothing funny about feldspar

I’ve been preoccupied lately with family and genealogy. I decided to make a little photo essay for My Sister’s Child’s wedding, but as I know it won’t be particularly appreciated until 20 years from now, I also decided to do a little family-tree research to give MSC something to add to when we’re all dead.

To aid this process, I’ve signed up for an account at ancestry.com (it’s free for 2 weeks) and started filling in the blanks on our family tree. It’s got lots of holes — my parents were more-or-less estranged from their families, moreso once my mother’s parents died.

Therefore, most of my “ancestor” boxes are filled with conjecture. Once past my parents, my confidence in my family tree assignment goes down rather dramatically. That’s ok, though — I’m working with data that is most me remembering little details that my parents told me over the years.

Details such as “My granddad was a vet,” which came from Dad. I always thought it was his mother’s father, but it turns out it was his father’s father. How do I know this? Well, my Dad was born before the 1930 census (the last one available to the public until 2012) and he has an unusual name. (Not his last name — that’s as common as candles — but his forenames.) I found him in the 1930 census, living near the town vet, who had his same last name. So that’s a big assumption, but I think it’s a reasonable one.

Anyway, following though that connection, and someone’s generous transcription of a bunch of tombstones in what seems to be a family cemetery, I learned the maiden name of Dad’s grandmother. So, my confidence level goes way down, until……..

So Dad’s grandmother’s father once reported to the US Census that he was born in Wales. Then at another Census he said his father was Spanish. Then on a third he reported that he was born in United States Of America…. Assuming I’ve been following the right person, this sounds just like something my Dad (or I) would do Perhaps we’re related after all.