I have tried unsuccessfully to find a way to share the best of what I have found in my ancestry with my Georgia cousins. We have a Family Reunion coming up in a week! I spent most of the past two days trying to print what I have found. I have finally decided that it is just about impossible to share that way because the family tree is like a real tree. It branches out in all directions. It is not linear. And it's not about charts and names. It's about real people with amazing stories.
Native American Ancestry?
I cannot find any evidence of Native American ancestry and my DNA sample seems to match what I am finding in my search....100% European ancestry.
This is a good way to get started: sharing a photo of my paternal grandmother, Selma Swift, with three of her children. Closest to her are Howard and Agnes with Gladys standing behind her. All three of these children have led long and productive lives, and they are still living. I look forward to seeing them next week.
This photo seems to support the story that Granny was of Cherokee Indian ancestry. Doesn't she look like a proud Cherokee woman??? Many of my cousins and I have believed that we had that ancestry and though it is disappointing (and surprising) to think that we have been given the wrong information, the science proves that this is not true. I don't have Cherokee DNA, but I have found many proud and intelligent people who are my ancestors. We have ancestors who have touched the history of the world, so much more than I would have ever guessed and I can't wait to share all of that with them.
As an exercise in my Writing Group, I wrote this little poem from my perspective of growing up in the 50's.
Where I'm From
from
clotheslines filled with
cotton
sheets and terrycloth towels
billowing
against a cerulean sky.
From
toddlers splashing in silvery galvanized
tubs
filled with water from a green garden hose.
I am from
front-porch-sitting beside
multicolored
flower beds of zinnias,
marigolds,
and roses with names
like “First
Love” and “Climbing Mermaid;”
From
neighbors who borrowed a cup of sugar or
the use
of the avocado green telephone on the kitchen wall.
I am from
buttermilk-and-cornbread on Saturday nights;
From
plates piled high on Sunday
with
fried chicken, speckled butter beans, and red ripe
tomatoes
picked from backyard vines, from sugar cured
ham decorated
with pineapple slices and cherries;
Better
Crocker cakes with whipped icing.
I am from
flowery wallpapered rooms with overstuffed sofas
and lamplight
under fringed shades. I am from
country-music-
harmonizing with albums on the Hi Fi;
Late
night black-and-white movies with smiling dancers cavorting
Across the
screen; sweeping soundtracks that picked me up
And transported
me to a place of beauty. And possibility.
