Category: Personal Story

52W Mark III – Week 43: Lost Contact

This week’s prompt for the 52 Ancestors Challenge is “Lost Contact”. Losing contact is one way of losing a connection. Sometimes losing the connection might be necessary.

There are countless ways as to why a tree is such an excellent metaphor for genealogy. One comparison that might not be considered so often is that, like a tree, sometimes one’s family history might need some pruning.

As our research progresses over time and we add to our trees, we might discover that there are branches that no longer belong, which should never have been there in the first place. They might have been grafted to our trees early on, when we were new to genealogy, and did not realize that the connection was not supported by the evidence. There might be branches that seemed to be supported by the evidence that was available at the time, but new evidence comes to light that disproves the connection. When this happens, we have to cut that branch and end contact with the false connection.

I know that sometimes many genealogists have had a hard time making the cut. After all, until the connection was disproved, the individuals on the branch were considered family.

Over the years, I’ve made cuts now and again. Some small, some big. A few years ago I found a significant cut I had to make for my 6xG Grandfather, James Turner (1715-1773). James is on a branch of my tree for which I’ve had less interest than others over the years. He was the great grandfather of my 3xG Grandfather, Preston Thomas (1814-1877). While I’ve done quite a lot of research on Preston – and written about him here many times – I have not done much research on his lineage. Most of what I have is names and dates I gathered in the mid-90s during my earliest visits to the Family History Centre in Burnaby, and never really looked at again very seriously. It comes as no surprise to me when I have to prune some of the branches on Thomas’s line, including the parents of James Turner (which I wrote about on Week 8 of the 2023 52 Ancestors Challenge).

The other branches of my tree that I know need some more serious research and that might result in some pruning, or at least some revision, are the paternal lines of my maternal grandmother, Helen Burgess (1921-1984). I have great confidence in the information I have for Helen’s grandparents and her attachment to them. However, I have doubts about the lineage of her great grandfather Franciscus “Franz” Lerner (b. bet. 1835-1840 – d. 1876 or 1877) and her great grandfather Georg Jacob Anton (1843-1908).

My grandmother’s is a descendant of Germans from Russia, which I have written about here quite often. Those ancestors are my most difficult branches to research, for many reasons.

For Franz, I am confident in the identity of his paternal grandfather [Franz Ignaz Lerner (1759-abt 1816 or later)]. The main problem is identifying his father. Franz’s father is one of either two individuals:

  • Michael Lerner born 11 Jul 1793 in Malsch, Karlsruhe, Baden, wife Maria Eva Eberle born 1793 in Pleisweiler, Bergzabern, Pfalz (although possibly Eva Eberle), or
  • Bernard Lerner born 27 Feb 1798 in Malsch, Karlsruhe, Baden, wife Barbara Heil born abt 1799 in Niederlustadt, Germersheim, Pfalz.

As for Georg Jacob, he might not actually be Georg Jacob. It is possible he is actually simply just Jacob. As for Georg Jacob’s father, the name I have is Johannes Anton; however, he might actually have been Peter Johannes Anton. Not only are the names I have slightly off from some other indicators, the birthdates I have for both is in question. Interestingly, the identity of their spouses does not seem to be as dubious. This leads me to believe that there is no mistaken branch here; rather, it is simply a matter of properly identifying Georg Jacob and Johannes.

I will add that even when I prune a branch, I keep a record of it. If large enough, I create a separate database for it; if not, I keep notes in my research logs or in the notes for the child whose parents I ended up cutting. That way I don’t retrace my steps or fall into old traps. Moreover, should it turn out the information actually was correct, I have it handy and can graft the branch back onto my main tree.

52W Mark III – Week 42: Full House

Growing up in a household with two parents and five children, it may have felt like we had a pretty full house. However, given the gaps in our ages, it wasn’t until I was 15 that there were seven of us sharing one home. Moreover, for the most part, despite all the moving around, by the time there were three of us children, the houses we lived in usually had three bedrooms. Until I was 15, that meant that there were never more than two in a room. I think my youngest brother was still in a crib by the time I moved away from home.

I compare that to my mother, who lived in the same house from age one to the time she married my father. She grew up in a tiny house in Lethbridge, which was built as part of the housing stock developed for veterans after World War II. My grandparents, Leo Burgess (1920-1995) and Helen Lerner (1921-1984), moved into the house in 1949, along with my mother and her older brother, Leo Jr. (1945-2014). Two more siblings followed, my Aunt Diana (1951-1999) and Uncle Curtis (1957-2024). In addition to her three siblings and her parents, my mother’s youngest uncle, Herb Lerner (1937-2004), also lived with them for a period of time.

May 1995, shortly after my grandfather Leo Burgess passed away. My mother and Aunt Diana are on the stairs at the front entrance. We were there to go through some things as part of cleaning out the house and settling the estate. The window on the top floor is for the bedroom that my mother and aunt shared as kids.

While it was a three bedroom house, in reality there was a tiny master bedroom on the main floor and two little shoeboxes in the attic that served as bedrooms. Because they were in the attic, the ceiling in both bedrooms was slanted to the floor. Not much fun for my mom’s brothers, who were both well over 6’5″.What was fun were the hardwood stairs that went up the middle of the house from the main floor to the attic. We treated it as a slide. Bumpy, yes, but loads of fun when we were little.

My uncles and their uncle Herb shared one room; my mother and her sister shared the other. By the time I was born, my Diana and Curtis had their rooms to themselves. By the time I was six, my Uncle Curtis had the whole floor to himself.

My grandmother, my mother, and her siblings, around 1959. I don’t know who the kid lurking in the background is.
My mother, her siblings, and my grandmother, about 1965.
My mother in the living room, ready for Grade 12 Prom

My grandmother, Aunt Diana, my mother, Uncle Leo, and grandfather, probably around 1955.

My grandfather renovated the interior a few times. The one I remember most was when he knocked out some of the walls between the dining room and living room. It made the place look palatial. Later they added a bay window to the living room at the front of the house. The least-best thing he did was when he installed shag carpet in the living room, covering up the gorgeous hardwood floor. It was the trendy thing to do at the time, something that definitely fell out of fashion a couple decades later. My grandfather also occasionally renovated the exterior, particularly the front and back entry ways.

My grandparents hosted a small reception at their home for my parents after their wedding ceremony. Here, everyone is gathered in the living room. My maternal grandparents are at the left of the photo; my paternal grandparents are on the right. My parents are flanked by the Maid of Honour and the Best Man.

We moved away from Lethbridge about a year after I was born. Nearly every summer vacation afterwards involved a road trip to Lethbridge, no matter where we were living at the time. Sometimes we visited for Easter or Christmas, as well as special occasions like weddings. Almost every time we visited, we spent half our time at this house. The other half we spent at my paternal grandparents’ house, although it seems like more often than not we spent more time at my maternal grandparents’. By then my aunts and uncles had all moved away, so my folks and siblings and I would use the upstairs rooms during those visits.

My first Christmas, with my grandparents in their living room.

My grandmother passed away in 1984; my grandfather passed away in 1995. My mother and siblings sold the house shortly after they settled my grandfather’s estate. The new owners were quick to renovate. The house has passed through several owners since then, each one renovated to some degree. I wish I had taken screen shots of the listing the last time it was listed for sale, which showed all the work they had done. The sellers had completely renovated the interior, plus they had finished the basement, something my grandfather never really worked on beyond installing some rough framing. Plus someone had gotten rid of that awful shag carpet.

One of the great features of Google Street View is that it allows you to view the various images of a location taken over time, particularly if it is a place that Google frequently revisits. Using that function, I can see the evolution of my grandparents’ home from 2009 to 2024.

Click “See More Dates”…
…and you’ll get a set of options for past views.

52W Mark III – Week 36: We Don’t Talk About It

With the prompt of “We Don’t Talk About It” for this week’s  52 Ancestors Challenge, the expectation was likely that participants would write about the bad secrets. However, not all secrets are bad!

Adrianus Joseph “Arie” van der Fluit (1923 – 2002) and Christina (“Tiny”) Komen (1923 – 2000) on their wedding day.

My father and his siblings organized a surprise party to celebrate my paternal grandparents’ 40th wedding anniversary. Adrianus (“Arie”) van der Fluit and Christina (“Tiny”, rhymes with “genie”) Komen were married on November 7, 1948, in Langedijk, Noord Holland, Netherlands at St. Jan de Doper Katholieke Kerk (St. John the Baptist Roman Catholic Church).

Kerk van Sint-Joannes de Doper, Noord-Scharwoude, Noord Holland, Netherlands, where my grandparents were married.

All my father’s siblings lived in Lethbridge, like my grandparents, so all the family living there were in attendance. My parents and siblings were living in northern British Columbia at the time, so my folks left my brothers and sisters with some family friends. In addition to all their children and most of their grandchildren, several family members also came over from the Netherlands to join in the festivities.

My grandparents, all their children and spouses, and about half their grandchildren (my four younger siblings did not attend). Several more grandchildren were born years after this celebration.

I had already left home and was living in Vancouver, so I flew to Alberta. I had lived in Vancouver long enough to have gotten used to the very mild winters there, forgetting that it was real winter elsewhere. So I boarded my flight wearing only a light jacket, only to be greeted by -11°C weather.

Two of my father’s cousins who made the trip from the Netherlands to celebrate my grandparents’ 40th wedding anniversary. That’s my noggin in the lower right.

My grandparents took out a “thank you” notice in the Lethbridge Herald on November 22, 1986:

“We would like to send a very special thank you to your children and their spouses for the care and love they gave us on the day of our 40th anniversary and for the fine days that followed. For keeping secret the very big surprise that was in store for us. Also a big thank you to our grandchildren, relatives and friends for the cards, gifts and flowers and for the way they made our day so very special.”

Speaking of surprises, I was surprised to discover that I had written about this before, for last year’s 52 Ancestors Challenge! Upon making that discovery, I thought I might scrub this and choose a new topic. However, I changed my mind because (a) I’m feeling lazy (b) I have too many other things to do and (c) I had chosen several different photos than before. But let’s not talk about it, okay?

52W Mark III – Week 33: Favourite Discovery

While the prompt for this week’s 52 Ancestors Challenge is “Favourite Discovery”, I’m hard pressed to choose just one. Rather, what immediately comes to mind is my Favourite Exploration, when I visited the farmhouse where my father was born, Waarland, North Holland. At the time it was part of Gemeente Harenkarspel (Municipality of Harenkarspel), but now Waarland is part of Gemeente Schagen.

Waarland’s location in the Netherlands

The first time I visited the Netherlands was part of a post-university backpacking tour through Europe with one of my friends. In the Netherlands, we stayed with one of my grandmother’s sisters and her husband, Tante Anny and Ome Nic, who lived in Zuid-Scharwoude, Gemeente Langedijk (which is now part of Dijk en Waard). It’s only a few kilometers from Waarland. Near the end of our stay in Langedijk, Ome Nic and I went for a bicycle ride to Waarland so I could meet my grandfather’s (van der Fluit) side of the family.

Waarland

Once in Waarland, we went to the home of my grandfather’s oldest brother and his wife, Ome Jan and Tante Marie. Their house is less than two kilometers due south of the house where my father was born. Ome Jan’s house was also the place where he and and my grandfather were both born. Many of Jan and Marie’s children and grandchildren were there for our visit.

One of Jan and Marie’s children (my father’s cousin), Pieter, took me on a short bike ride up the road to the house where my dad was born. Not only that, he knew the current owner, so we were able to go inside. That was incredibly special. I was even in the room where my father was born!

The house where my father was born, the first time I visited Waarland

Many many years later, in 2017, my parents planned to take a cruise that departed out of Amsterdam, so they went early so they could spend time with our family in Noord Holland. I had always wanted to visit the Netherlands with my father, so I made the trip over there.

With my father outside the house here he was born. He’s more than happy to say, yes, he was born in a barn.

Of course, the trip would not have been complete without a visit to Waarland. After a short visit with one of my father’s cousins, we made our way to the house where my father was born. It looked as if the place had not been well maintained by its current owners. It looked quite run down since the last time I was there. I also had to tease my father by asking him whether he remembered the skateboard halfpipe that was in the back yard.

We then made our way to Ome Jan’s and Tante Marie’s house. Ome Jan had passed away in 2011 and Tante Marie died in 2013, so the house had a new owner. In fact, it was an entirely new house. The old one had been demolished, but the new one that replaced it looked almost identical. 

The rebuilt version of my great grandparents’ house, where my grandfather was born.

We also passed by the church where my father was baptized. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to go inside. As well, we stopped by a 450-year-old windmill that has been a museum since 1920, where I suppose I did make a surprising discovery – llamas! They were grazing on the property immediately adjacent to the windmill.