You know the feeling: You finally, FINALLY, nail down that elusive 17th century ancestor. You've got her cold: name, parents, dates, place, and your data match marriage documents, baptismal records, censuses, cemetery photos. Yes! But wait, you have to RECORD all this, cite your sources, make sure your translation is correct, make sure it's all recorded carefully and fully for the next person. And all the while you're chomping at the bit to grab that next hint -- the godparents' names, the witnesses -- and chase the next, earlier ancestor. Waaah! I don't wanna!!! Waaah!
Sound familiar? So why do we struggle to do our due diligence? Because the thrill is in the hunt, not the kill, that's why.
Welcome to the science of Jaak Panksepp. Before I go on, I shall warn you I am going to butcher Jaak in this summary. Google him, read his research; he's a serious neuroscientist. But first let me tell you how he relates to what follows,
In a nutshell, Panksepp says that humans (and the animals and lizards that came before) are driven to hunt because they are rewarded, via the release of happy-making endorphins, for the HUNT. It's not the kill that satisfies; it's the stalking, the creeping, the sudden pounce, the aha (well, he doesn't say that; he just talks about the reward of seeking). He argues that's the impetus behind my dog who will kill a squirrel and leave it on the deck (because she just ate and isn't hungry, but Oh it's so much fun to chase and catch). I argue that it's the impetus behind shopping. If you are someone who loves to shop but often finds himself staring at something just purchased and then sticking it in a drawer, you know what I mean. The hunt was fabulous; the get? not so much.
So, genealogy. I'm not a shopper of stuff, but I LOVE shopping for ancestors. And, like my squirrel-displaying dog, I like to show off my catches. We all do. We find new and wonderful ways to display the long reach of our ancestry, back 8, 10, 15 generations. And then we show it to our siblings, tape it to walls at reunions, and wait for others to ooh and ahh. And they don't.
Why? Well, perhaps because they didn't experience the high of the seek and what they are looking at is terrifically boring. Imagine for a moment your second cousin once removed who loves to fish. And he brings to the reunion not just a photo of his August 17, 2013 catch of an 8-pound bass in Lake Whosybutt but a terrific, not-to-be-believed graphic of his catches from 1988, with species, dates, sizes, locations, and bait. That's us, genie friends. Our 20' x 6' banners that stretch to the 15th century with names, dates, places. We tack them up and wonder why they fetch no more than a glance: well, think fish.
So what do those of us who've gone to unbelievable lengths to track down our 16th century relatives do? Here's one idea. We know a lot, right? And then there's the Internet, Wikipedia, Google Earth. So pick three or four really early ancestors and make a brief graphic, with pictures of places and information about that social world in which they lived. Put them on a poster. Or a two-page handout. You can pick the earliest ones, the ones you have the most information about, the one that is maybe famous or infamous, or the one who breaks your heart.
The stories I like are about the earliest Bourgeois, Jean, who's born in Montfaucon, Switzerland in 1694 and gets married in Mertzen Alsace France just 15 km away but over the Jura Mountains, which are serious mountains. I have photos of Montfaucon, its church, and a lovely image of his baptismal record. Or about the Bourgeois relative who fought with Napolean and was awarded the Medale Ste Helene. Or maybe the young 18th century woman who bore a child out of wedlock, an infant girl who died the next day, followed seven years later by her mom, still unmarried, still living with her uncle. Or the brothers who were French one day and conscripted by Hitler the next, only to die on the Russian front.
When I recently visited a sister with both stories and a lovely 12 generation chart, it was the stories that got her attention. Oddly, our relatives just assume we've done it right; they don't really necessarily want to see the tidy progression through the centuries. But if you can briefly introduce them to the truly bad German Chancellor who just happens to be a relative, or to the tragedy of the orphaned baby who marries at 17, has eleven children, and dies at 44, you will hold their attention.
