I appreciate my ancestors. I really do. But the path to document their lives has been no easy task. I realize this more and more as I research the ancestors of others.
My own family lines are either from the South, other countries, or both. The places they came from don't have county histories or other publications about the area. My ancestors aren't in the books.
This situation has been made abundantly clear as I take on more and more client work. One person's ancestors are all over 1600's Connecticut. I found so many books mentioning this family line. Another client has a Salem witch in the tree. No shortage of information there.
Recently, I worked on my husband's family tree. He doesn't care much, so I do it for fun, curiosity, the chance to dispel myths, and in case my son catches on some day. I spent one evening looking at his Pierson line. You'd think that semi-common name would post some challenges, but it was really quite easy to gather information on his direct line. I kept going further and further back until I hit a prominent ancestor and all the wonderful records that come with him.
Meanwhile, in my own tree I'm wrestling with names like Joszt and Czwetelics in an area of Europe that changed country borders whenever the wind blew. JOSZT and CZWETELICS? Are you kidding me? Those surnames look like my cat walked across the keyboard.
Fine. I accept my fate. There is little to no information on my ancestors. It is my job to produce that information and make it available for future generations. I am the chosen one in the family, blah blah blah...
Genealogy is unfair. I get it now.
Oh, and in case my son is reading my blog...this Abraham Pierson guy is your 9th great-grandfather on your father's side. He even has his own statue.