About

Historians have long used the emergence of writing systems as a milestone in human history.  Prior to the existence of hieroglyphs or alphanumeric characters and a physical means to transfer them to a legible medium, tales were passed from generation to generation by spoken word.  Invariably, such tales were lost and altered over time until truths passed into legend or a fading distant memory. Tales of forefathers, mothers, sisters and brothers were lost to the ticking of time and the arrival of each successive generation.  Perhaps I just can’t see that as being very fair. None of us would exist were it not for those who came before us. Their lives, their struggles, and their joys should not be forgotten. 

I caught the genealogy bug at the young age of ten.  Though unnerved by cemeteries for as long as I could remember, this fear seemed to fade the more I hunted for familiar names among worn limestone epitaphs.  I was driven to find the next name in the tree, the next piece of the puzzle, the next answer to the question “where did we come from?” 

The Thomas line was of particular interest to me for its colorful legends – all passed orally to the next generation and never written down.  Legends told of a prisoner in the family who escaped by tricking a guard into an innocent foot race around a tree, later to be hidden by his relatives in “Thomas Woods” in Tylersport.  Legends told of a Thomas who went west to search for his fortune, but died in an avalanche – or was it a covered-up murder? Legends told of Thomas immigrants from Wales, where the Thomas line was descended from the “last prince of Wales.”  It has even been claimed that “Thomas” is a surname descended from King Arthur.

Are any of these tales true? Are we really descended from princes-turned-convicts? Were our forefathers from Wales at all, or from Germany as so many other early settlers in Pennsylvania?

Decades after that first stroll through a family grave plot, I finally had enough pieces to begin constructing the puzzle (the internet has certainly helped).  Journeying in search of these pieces has taken me to many churches, cemeteries, libraries, and crossroads. I have had the privilege of standing where my forefathers and foremothers were married and christened, walked the same ground that they walked, and have traveled the same roads that they traveled. 

Along the way I have met many others on similar quests, as well as family members whose existence I did not even know about. I have had the joy of sharing the quest with my family: notably, my parents, my brother, and my grandfather. I have found that many oral traditions are rooted in fact; that some have been stretched with each successive telling, and that many more are waiting to be discovered.  I have found that everyone has a story to tell, and that they are all worth being heard. With this site I have sought to record not only the names, dates, and places of those who have come before me, but also the stories that their lives told, stories which were never written down until now. And while I’ve initially done so just for my own storage of these mountains of names, dates, and tales, the comments and emails received from distant relatives on their own quests has come as a phenomenal surprise and joy.

This is the story of a wise old tree, one whose roots run deep.  Some of its branches are straight, while others found a more crooked, intriguing path towards the sky.  I am but one small leaf on that tree, yet I owe much to the twigs and branches and roots before me.