Read to the bottom for How to Use this Blog . I have been exploring genealogy since I was little, listening to all the stories told by Aunts Connie and Helena, Cousins Ann and Howie and Maurietta, Uncles Leonard and Arthur. There were m ore dead people in the stories than live ones, and they were lots more fun. This was way before it was anyone's hobby, when I was the only one who was interested. Sneaking into the Archives underage and running around graveyards. I was lost to the present, either reading books about Pilgrims or building stories in my head. Always asking, asking, asking. "How is he related to us? Who is their mother? What was her name, and her name, and her name? " While Aunt Anna said, "I don't want to find out anyone was arrested for stealing sheep." Now I find I know more stories about more people than anyone else. And I have more photos of other people's grandparents than anyone else, thanks to a mother who started taking pictures wh...
Writing this, I kept thinking how the kid I was drove the back roads of Nova Scotia in the back seat, sandwiched between plump elderly women in stockings and floral dresses, my grandmother and any one of her sisters. As they pointed out possums, foxes, and The Measured Mile 1 for me to view, whoever was driving would back up if I missed it. Driving there today, I look out at the scenery… and feel love. In Chapters One thru Six, we met Sarah Rushton walking her land grant in 1827 Westchester, Nova Scotia with her daughter Elizabeth and grandchildren. Sarah, husband Jeremiah, and family were exiled from New York as Loyalists after the Revolution. Promised land by the British, the family boarded a ship, then walked for days, hauling their belongings. Fretting over her husband’s plan to move to Upper Canada, Elizabeth asked, “How will I have a baby by myself in the wilderness?” Sarah explained she’d avoided pregnancy as a refugee. The Rushtons labored to meet the terms of the land g...