Wordless Wednesday - A little dirt, a summer breeze, a chair for balance - what more could a little boy want?

 

DNA Ethnicity Estimates, or Why do they keep saying I’m Scandinavian?

 I am not usually an early adopter. In fact,  my middle name could very well be Cautious, with a capital “C.”  I will research an expenditure, an acquisition, or an impending experience until I have become a walking encyclopedia on my latest interest. For most people this would suck the joy out of the venture, but for me it is a source of added pleasure.  Insane, right?

Occasionally, however, the “Frenzy Fairy” will hit me with her pixie dust, and I will plunge into something without so much as a backward glance.  That is my only explanation of why, in 2012, when I received the email from Ancestry about being a beta tester for their new DNA product, I signed up immediately.   Well, that and the fact it was only going to cost me $9.99 for shipping.  (Don’t worry, Ancestry has more than made bank from me with that little investment.)

So, I spat into the tube and waited. At the time, I had been working on my family history for about a decade.  

As I was digitally rummaging to see if I had the original screenshot of their ethnicity predictions, I found my own prediction of what I thought the results would be.  

My predictions were:

73% Central European (All that German ancestry, plus some Swiss, Dutch and a wee bit of French)

25% British Isles  (English and Irish)

1% Native American  

1%  African American

Okay, the final two were a stretch, but one could always hope.

Wait!  Where were they getting the Scandinavian ethnicity, or the Southern European?

I asked my mom to do the test, so I could see where these regions were coming from.

Um, mom pretty much had the Ancestry I thought I should have.  Shouldn’t she and I at least be half a match with our ethnicities? I looked quickly to see what relationship they had assigned to us.  Okay, I could relax, we were parent and child. 

At the end of 2013, a new estimate for ethnicity came out from Ancestry.

33% Eastern Europe?  Mom only had 3% Eastern Europe with this update, so that meant it came from Dad’s side of the family.  Dad’s mother was 100% German, and there was no Slavic ancestry to be found in the rest of his family tree.  So, I took a second look at his German ancestors. 

To my surprise, I found that before Germans settled in the area near the Baltic Sea, two Western Slavic tribes had lived in the region.  The two groups had intermingled and more importantly, intermarried. Up until 1795, the very church where my ancestors had worshipped had a service given in a Slavic language. Ancestry had pointed out a part of my ethnic history that I hadn’t even known existed.  I still couldn’t account for the Scandinavian heritage.

Of course, Ancestry has had many updates since.  On one update, I was happy to see Welsh listed among my ethnic roots.  The next one, the Welsh was gone from my results, and my brother suddenly found a bit of Welsh in his.

Below are my latest ethnicity estimates from three different vendors.  

ANCESTRY  

FAMILY TREE

My Heritage 

They don’t agree on much except that I still have that darn Scandinavian in my estimates. 

Each vendor uses their own reference populations. They each have their own procedures that ultimately become  their estimate of your personal ethnicity. Family Tree and Ancestry have white papers explaining exactly what is involved in making estimates.  Remember, if a portion of your DNA does not fit perfectly into one of their identified regions, that bit of DNA will be put into an ethnicity that it most closely matches.

My point is that you do not necessarily need to panic if your results do not match your expectations, or even your own family members. There could be valid reasons. As Ancestry says, “It’s not an exact science.”  However, if your DNA matches are not what you expect, then there could be an issue. Ancestry has prepared a page to go over those issues along with links that may help. That page is here. 

As for my Scandinavian mystery, there were Viking settlements in England, Ireland, along the Baltic coast, some parts of Central Europe, into Russia, and as far south as present-day Kyiv.  My ancestors lived in many of those regions. Maybe the answer to the mystery is this:  I have Viking DNA that is still circulating in my genes a thousand years after the fact. To that I say, “SKÅL!”

Sources:

1.            Ancestry Ethnicity Results, www.Ancestry.com, Accessed 18 June 2012.

2.            Ancestry Ethnicity Results, www.Ancestry.com, Accessed 29 March 2013.

3.            Ancestry Ethnicity Results, www.Ancestry.com, Accessed 3 Oct 2013.

4.            Kashubia, Home of the Baltic Slavs – written originally in Polish by Jaroslaw Ellwart, translated to German by Peter Oliver Loew, and abridged and supplemented English translation by John M. Hingst and Liesel Herchenroether Hingst, 2000. PDF version Accessed 20 July 2020.

5.            Ancestry Ethnicity Results, www.Ancestry.com, Accessed 27 Dec 2022.

6.            Family Tree Ethnicity Results, www.Familytreedna.com, Accessed 28 Dec 2022.

7.            My Heritage Ethnicity Results, www.Myheritage.com, Accessed 28 Dec 2022.

8.            AncestryDNA® White Papers, https://support.ancestry.com/s/article/AncestryDNA-White-Papers, Accessed 28 Dec 2022.

9.            myOrigins 3.0 White Paper, https://blog.familytreedna.com/myorigins-3-0-white-paper/, Accessed 28 Dec. 2022.

10.          Discover more about DNA matches, https://www.ancestry.com/c/dna/unexpected-dna-matches, Accessed 4 Feb 2023.

11.          Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. "Viking". Encyclopedia Britannica, 1 Dec. 2022, https://www.britannica.com/topic/Viking-people, Accessed 27 Dec 2022.

© 4 February 2023, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder

Deep Within My Genes: In My Grandmother's Kitchen

Today is my paternal grandmother’s birthday.  Depending on whether you believe her marriage certificate or her baptismal record, she would have been 114 or 112.  Both of my grandparents lied about their birthdates on their marriage license.  In a previous blog post, A Question of Age,  I covered this very subject. Spoiler alert, Grandpa had a good reason for his lie. Of Grandma’s lie, shoulder shrug, I have only unsatisfying speculation.  

My children were 9, 12 and 15 when my grandmother died.  I don’t think many children are lucky enough to have a relationship with a great grandmother, but my children had that privilege.  We still talk and chuckle about “grandma stories.” 

My grandmother was a good cook and an even better baker.  When she died, my mother found herself the recipient of a basket with Grandma’s recipes.  When my daughter married, I made a loose-leaf notebook for her entitled, “In My Grandmother’s Kitchen” and put together some of our favorite “Grandma Recipes.”  Since I have already written a birthday post about my Grandmother previously (My Grandmother, Anna),  I thought this time I would post recipes from the book. 

These cookies were my personal favorite. (No, I really mean FAVORITE!)

My daughter was partial to the Zucchini Bread.

The boys were partial to anything that contained sugar. 

The last two cookies in my grandmother’s handwriting.  

This is my Great Grandmother’s Pie Crust Recipe. 

Nobody (at least in my family) practices the art of canning anymore.  I have not had these Mustard Pickles in close to 40 years, and my mouth is watering at the mere thought of them.  

My grandmother was not the soft, cuddly kind of grandmother.  I don’t remember her ever hugging me or telling me that she loved me.  Yet, I always felt her love.  It came through in the tiniest of moments, the reams of advice (often unsolicited), the little things she did to lighten a single mother’s load, the sweet taste of a favorite cookie dropped off just when it was needed – that was my grandmother.

Happy Birthday, Grandma.  Your eldest granddaughter still misses you.

 

© 16 January 2023, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Wordless Wednesday - Christmas Massacre

 

Of Mothers and Daughters and Dinner Parties — Part II Redux

 

Sometimes, when you throw a question out into the universe, you get a response.  In January of 2008, I asked a series of questions for the Carnival of Genealogy.  Though my paternal grandmother, Anna, was born in the United States, all her ancestors were born in the Stolp district of Pomerania.   At the time, because I didn’t (and still don’t) speak German, finding the information seemed head bangingly impossible.   So, it’s fifteen years later, and guess what?  Some of my questions now have answers.  I am reposting that January 2008 entry along with my found answers.   

Of Mothers and Daughters and Dinner Parties — Part II

The 41st edition of the Carnival of Genealogy asks the question: If you could have dinner with four of your ancestors who would they be and why?

 

When my great-grandmother, Emma Gleffe Schröder, first set sail for the United States in 1906, she knew that she would probably never see her father, brother and sister again. It's not known if Emma's mother, Pauline Gleffe, was alive at the time of Emma's departure, but in the German letters that were saved, Pauline is not mentioned.

 

Emma arrived at Ellis Island with her husband, Leo, and their two sons, Wilhelm (Willy) and Max, on April 1, 1906. Speaking no English and being sponsored by Leo's brother-in-law, Karl Kollat, Emma and Leo settled on the outskirts of Clyde, Ohio. There they found other German-speaking families, and just as important to Emma, a Lutheran Church that she could walk to each week, to listen to the German service.

 

For my second dinner party, I would choose Emma and her mother, Pauline, as the last two ancestors to share a meal with me. Though I would love to see the land where Emma grew up and where Pauline lived her life, I know exactly when and where this dinner party would take place.

 

There are very few things my grandmother told me about her mother, Emma. But the one thing she did say was that her mother was a good cook. My dad has also told me the same thing of the grandmother that he called, “his buddy.” So I am inviting myself to Sunday dinner at the Schröder house in Clyde, and Emma and her mother are doing the cooking.

 

Once they get used to the idea of being together again, I can imagine the two of them clucking and speaking in German, with my great-grandmother translating for me. I would be madly scribbling down recipes and notes and helping with whatever menial chores the two women would assign me.

 

I WOULD ASK PAULINE (with Emma translating)

What date were you born?

2 Oct 1849 at Klein Gansen, Kr. Stolp, Pommern, Prussia  (Full Name: Pauline Albertine Mathilde Gleffe) [i]

What are the names of your parents?

Friedrich Wilhelm Gleffe and Johanne Helene Wilhelmine Bujack[ii][iii][iv]

What date were they born?

Friedrich Wilhelm Gleffe was born 20 June 1815 in Klein Gansen, Kr. Stolp, Pommern, Prussia[v]

Johanne Helene Wilhelmine (she went by Wilhelmine) was born 22 Sept 1819, Klein Gansen, Kr. Stolp, Pommern, Prussia[vi]

What is your husband's full name and date of birth?

Wilhelm Gottlieb Gliffe   DOB: 17 January 1852 Goschen, Kr. Stolp, Pommern, Prussia[vii]

What are the names of his parents?

Friedrich Gliffe (sometimes Gleffe) and Henriette Bastubbe[viii]

When and where were you married?

Do you remember your grandparents?

What were there names?

Gottfried Friedrich Gleffe (he went by Friedrich) and Katharina Anna Zoschke[ix]

Christian Friedrich Bujack and Dorothea Luise Jahnke[x]

Tell me a story about your grandparents.

Tell me a story about Emma when she was a little girl.

 

I WOULD ASK EMMA

Who were your paternal grandparents?

Friedrich Gliffe and Henriette Bastubbe[xi]

What do you remember of them?

What do you miss about your homeland?

Who was Albert Tuschy and how are the Tuschys related to the Schröder family?

Albert Tuschy was the brother-in-law to Emma’s husband, Leo Schröder (Schrader in the U.S.) He was married to Leo’s sister Bertha Eva Adeline.[xii]

Albert acted as informant in the death of his mother-in-law, Caroline Wilhelmine Quetschke Schröder (10 April 1895, Gaffert, Kr. Stolp, Pommern, Germany)[xiii]

Albert also acted as informant in the death of his father-in-law, Wilhelm Heinrich Schröder (4 March 1917, Budow, Kr. Stolp, Pommern, Germany.)[xiv]

Tell me about your in-laws, Wilhelm and Karoline Quetschke Schröder.

What was the trip to America like?

What is a favorite memory you have of your mother?

What is a favorite memory you have of your father?

Tell me a story about your daughter Anna as a child.

What is your recipe for your Christmas log roll?

 

I would give them some private time to talk, to cry and to laugh. Then later, sometime in the afternoon, Emma's daughter Anna would stop and drop off her 7-year-old son. For I have chosen to have my dinner party the exact summer that my father stayed with his grandparents during the week.

 

Pauline and I would fade into the shadows, as Emma, all smiles would go outside to greet her daughter and grandson. We would stand there, the two of us, peeking out the screen door, listening to the casual tones of conversation. Pauline would be watching intently the granddaughter and great-grandson she had never seen, and I would be watching just as intently a father and grandmother I have known so well. We would look up, she and I, our eyes meeting, and both smile in a way that would need no translation

---

[i] Evangelische Kirche Budow Taufen (Evangelical Chuch of Budow, Baptisms), 1849 No. 121

[ii] Ibid

[iii] Evangelische Kirche Budow Taufen, for Augustine Philippine Franziska Maria, 1852 No. 20

[iv] Ahnenpaß (Ancestral Passport) of Margarete Gleffe, from the Research of Jörg Glewwe, Nov. 2020

[v]   Ibid

[vi]  Ibid

[vii] Evangelische Kirche Budow Taufen, 1852 No. 5

[viii] Ibid

[ix]  Ahnenpaß of Margarete Gleffe, from the Research of Jörg Glewwe, Nov. 2020

[x]   Ibid

[xi]  Evangelische Kirche Budow Taufen, 1852 No. 5

[xii] Standesamt Budow Heiraten (Marriage Record Civil Registry for Budow) , 1887 No. 3

[xiii] Standesamt Budow Tote (Death Record Civil Registry for Budow), 1895 No. 16

[xiv] Standesamt Budow Tote, 1917 No. 7

©30 Jan 2008 & revised 1 Dec 2022, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Over the River and Through the Woods - Some Hoy Thanksgivings

The picture below was taken 8 days before Thanksgiving 1916.  It is the wedding picture of my maternal grandparents, Frank Eugene Hoy and Katheryne Cecile Lynch. The date was November 22, 1916.  I asked my grandmother once where she and grandpa met.  She had a twinkle in her eye when she told me it was at a Halloween Party, he was very handsome, and that was all she would say. 

My grandparents would go on to have nine children (who would give them 29 grandchildren), but the two of them were such opposites that their divorce seems inevitable, Grandpa was a quiet gentle man, and Katie was, well, Katie. My grandmother was a natural storyteller, who never let anything as inconvenient as facts get in the way of a good story.  As a child she seemed bigger than life, with her arms and hands constantly in motion making whatever point she intended.  Honestly, she was a little terrifying to a quiet little girl who listened intently to her tales. 

The next picture was taken on Thanksgiving in 1948 or 1949.  My mother remembers they were all angry with their youngest brother, Delbert, because he refused to have his picture taken.  

The two younger boys in the front row are my Uncle Donnie and the defiant Uncle Delbert (with his hand up before his face.) In the back, from left to right are my mother, my Aunt Evelyn, Uncle Johnny, Aunt Flossie, Uncle Dale, Grandpa, Uncle Bob and Aunt Florence.  Aunt Florence inherited the storytelling gene, only her stories were always funny, and self deprecating.  My mother tells me that I remind her of her sister, Florence which I have always considered a huge compliment. (Unless, of course, she is referring to the fact that Aunt Florence and I both snort when we laugh.) 

The next three pictures are from Thanksgiving 1951. It's easy to date because in  the picture of the "Outlaws" - that is actually what they called themselves - you can see a very pregnant Aunt Marion, who would give birth to my cousin in January 1952. 

The first picture is that of my mom and her siblings. The back row is Aunt Florence, Uncle Johnny, Aunt Flossie, Aunt Evelyn, and Uncle Dale.  The front row is Uncle Bob, Uncle Donnie, Uncle Delbert (this time making faces) and my momma. 

The next picture is of the "Outlaws."  The ladies in front are my Aunt Marge and my Aunt Marion.

In the back is my Dad, Uncle Boo, Uncle Alvin and to be honest, I'm not sure who the person on the end is.  While my dad was overseas when I was born, my mom and I lived with my Uncle Boo and Aunt Ev and my cousins, Arlene and Linda. My Uncle Boo was a contractor and he built the first house that my parents owned. .  

I'm not going to attempt to name all the cousins, but I will tell you that another fifteen grandchildren had yet to be born. (Including, yours truly.)  Grandma Hoy is in the back row, next to her eldest grandchild, my cousin Janet.  My cousin Janet was a natural to babysit for me when I was little.  Later, when she got married, she asked me to be one of her hostesses.  I was nervous, but honored. 

I will be honest with you.  I was an okay looking kid when I was little, but from about the end of second grade until almost the end of ninth grade, I was, to put it honestly, a hot mess.  My nose had grown too quickly for my face, My teeth had come in too large for my mouth and I would later add braces to complete the hideous look.  It was so bad that I overheard my paternal grandmother saying to my mom, "Terry isn't as pretty as Marcia."  My mother, so loyal, told her that both of her girls were pretty.  

I was devastated, but I decided, Fine. If  I couldn't be the pretty one, I would be the smart one. Which was kind of its own joke because my petite little sister had a photographic memory, and learned to read at the age of four.  The school wanted her to skip a grade, but because she was such a tiny thing my parents were a hard no on that idea.  

Nonetheless, I threw myself into studying and bolstered by the fact that my second toe was longer than my big toe, and being assured by my dad that this was a  sign that I was indeed, very intelligent, I ended up in an advanced math class, was later tapped for National Honor Society, and wore golden honor cords for my high school graduation. So all in all, it worked out. 

At the time of my cousin's wedding, my nose and my face were now on the same page, the braces had come off, I refused any more short, short hair cuts, and I was able to smile again. So that night I was on the way to feeling better about my looks, but what sealed the deal was my dad.  He came over to where I was cutting the wedding cake, had me put the knife down, and asked me  to dance.  It was a polka. I'd never danced to one before, and I haven't danced to once since,  but my dad made me feel so graceful and beautiful. That was really the night I transformed from the ugly duckling into, if not a swan, at least swan like.

So this Thanksgiving, I am thinking about my childhood.  How my parents were always there for me, supporting me, encouraging me, loving me and I am thankful for that blessing.  

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Enjoy the day. 

© 24 Nov 2022, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Then, with eyes that saw not . . .

Sometimes, I think, it is good to be reminded that as all encompassing as a personal loss is, there are those who travel their own path of loss.  So, be as kind as humanly possible, but be as fierce as necessary to protect those people and beliefs you cherish.  

Heather, sweet little one, you are in my thoughts.

The First Snowfall

By James Russell Lowell

The snow had begun in the gloaming,

   And busily all the night

Had been heaping field and highway

   With a silence deep and white.

 

Every pine and fir and hemlock

   Wore ermine too dear for an earl,

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree

   Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

 

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara

   Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,

The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,

   And still fluttered down the snow.

 

I stood and watched by the window

   The noiseless work of the sky,

And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,

   Like brown leaves whirling by.

 

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn

   Where a little headstone stood;

How the flakes were folding it gently,

   As did robins the babes in the wood.

 

Up spoke our own little Mabel,

   Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"

And I told of the good All-father

   Who cares for us here below.

 

Again I looked at the snow-fall,

   And thought of the leaden sky

That arched o'er our first great sorrow,

   When that mound was heaped so high.

 

I remembered the gradual patience

   That fell from that cloud-like snow,

Flake by flake, healing and hiding

   The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

 

And again to the child I whispered,

   "The snow that husheth all,

Darling, the merciful Father

   Alone can make it fall!"

 

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;

   And she, kissing back, could not know

That my kiss was given to her sister,

   Folded close under deepening snow.