To me, roots equal genealogy.
Even after leaving the church of my youth, I have wondered how my actions are connected with my ancestry. Recently I traced my great-grandmother Jane’s line to the Roberts in the Channel Islands near England. My gggggrandfather was buried in a churchyard in St. John, Jersey Island.
There were several Messerveys who had been advocates in the justice system. I suspect that they may have been related although I have not been able to connect them into my family tree. I do have that love of fairness which made me leave my home to seek another life.
When I trace my grandfather Larson’s line, it disappears into Norseman myth and mysteries. Tosten Larson (Thurston anglicized name) came to the U.S. as a youth. He lost his parents to illness and raised his brothers and sisters by himself. I find that he came from Stekka, Strandebarm, Hordaland, Norway–a stronghold of viking art, ships, and museums.
I have family from England–Kingsbury. I have family from Denmark–Petersen. I have family that settled in Massachussets and Connecticut and California and Utah. Many of my family were musicians. They came across the Great Plains, playing their fiddles for the pioneers. Some settled with the Mormons. Some became businessmen. My grandfather was very proud of a cousin who sang opera in Europe.
Sometimes it is overwhelming.
Fate played a big part in their lives including determination, ability, and stubborness. When I read their histories, I feel them. They are mine.
But, I have been rootless for many years. I wandered the world. I saw Asia, Africa, Europe, and Central America. It wasn’t until fate took a hand that we (my husband and I) settled back to the States.
I still yearn for the freedom of seeing other new places. Maybe… maybe it is my roots speaking–ancestors in my bones and blood searching for a New World.