I’m the only living person in the family who’s actually been to Alsace or Bavaria. All my research has led to me to believe that the origins of my great, great grandfather say little about who I am today. By “little,” I mean, more specifically, 6.25%. After all, everyone on the planet has 16 great, great grandparents, so each of them is responsible for no more than 1/16th of an individual’s genetic code.
When the reality of that impressively modest figure hit me, and when the records at the Archives Départementales du Bas-Rhin in Strasbourg produced nothing even vaguely related to my great, great grandpa’s departure from his birthplace, I decided to give up. Or rather, I thought I’d collect info on my ancestors in a more casual way. I’d hang out in the lands of their origin and imagine what it must have been like to live there more than 100 years ago.