Calling, calling... through the hedge

It wasn't any overwhelming urge to begin the search, because it didn't begin as a search at all, simply a notification in my email box that a subscription to a genealogical web site was expiring. Dabbling several years ago with a preliminary browse through recent ancestors after my nephew had completed his own exploration, I had approached the Revolutionary period in New England then, typically peripatetic, my interests focused on some other venture.

Pilgrims and immigrants from Denmark, Germany and Scotland were known entities, at least in a generic sense. Dad always said there had been seven on the Mayflower who were ancestors. He had raised within us the love of the Pamet River in Truro, which he and his family knew intimately, the same Pamet which saw the sturdy shallop sailing on its tidal waters back in 1620, filled with men embarking, with their families, on their own search for religious freedom and independence.We, as a family in more recent years, spend Thanksgiving along the Pamet, or nearby, where the ashes of Dad and Mom lay scattered in the winds and tides.

Why the immigrants from Germany took the ships to New York in the mid 1800s is unknown, but they settled in New Jersey and became Americans. A daughter married into the family of the Scots branch which had largely arrived in New England after the Clearances following Culloden in the mid 1700s. Whether these brothers, Hector and Malcom, had joined the fight with Bonnie Prince Charlie is doubtful, as their clan did not fight. The brothers settled in New Hampshire where one married the local squire's daughter and the other lived as a hermit, 'not quite right' in the mind.

This leaves the Danes, our maternal grandfather's family. The story goes there was a fallout between family members, and Hans gathered his wife, Maren Sophia, and their children and left for the States. Settling outside Chicago, they continued to farm.

The rest, well, they were all immigrants from England and Scotland, coming in a steady stream to the Massachusetts Bay colony and colonial New England, and one was already here to greet the pilgrims.

Why go any deeper? Well, clicking on generation after generation became a downtime pastime indulged just prior to retiring for the night.

Little did I know the places these people would take me, the myths and lore they'd tell, the castles visited, the dragons and holy ones I'd meet.

I found