Growing up in New England, a part of the country steeped in tradition and very proud of its history and, in Boston's case, its predominantly Irish and Italian heritage, I always felt a little bit bad that I never really knew anything about my own family ancestry. As I've got a pretty ambiguous surname, the question would come up a lot, and I'd always meet it with a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and an "eh, I don't know.... American? Ha-ha..." My naturally blonde hair, blue eyes, astoundingly pale complexion and propensity to burst into flame under direct sunlight assured me there must be a hefty dose of Northern European influence in the mix... English, Irish, German, Scandinavian (and maybe a bit of vampire as well)? A long weekend spent in Amsterdam back in 2005 convinced me there was absolutely a bit of Dutch in the mix, as all of the locals looked incredibly like the members of my father's side of the family. Still, this was all conjecture. I never had any direct information to go on. No names. No dates. No stories passed down through the generations. It always seemed a bit of a shame.
When I was in Norway, I was constantly asked by the locals if I was there "looking for my family", as apparently this is a common thing for Americans to do there. I wasn't looking for my family when I set out on this trip, but as it turns out, I found them anyway... well, at least a piece of the puzzle. For starters, there's my cousin in Sweden who I never knew a thing about until a few months ago. She's American, so no ancestral ties to Sweden there, but still, who knew? Staying with her for a couple nights I heard a lot of stories about that branch of the family tree that I'd never heard before, and confirmed that I do, in fact, have Irish ancestry. Weirdly enough, it does NOT come from the New England side of my family, but from the Southern side. My cousin in Sweden pointed me toward other cousins who had more detailed information about our Irish ancestry, some of whom had even gone to the family reunions that are held every summer in the tiny southern village of Baltimore in West Cork, where the O'Driscoll clan hails from. I had been to Ireland once before this trip, and had gone down to Cork, so I hadn't planned on heading south again this time around, but the allure of finally exploring a place that I had definite family ties to was too great to pass up, and so after a couple nights in Dublin, it was off to Baltimore.
First order of business... visiting the family castle. Yup, we have a castle. Well, we did have a castle, anyway, until it was given away to the English by a less scrupulous member of the O'Driscoll clan. At any rate, the O'Driscoll name is still very much tied to the castle, and to the village of Baltimore in general. It was kind of neat walking around, seeing the name on everything from cafés to mechanics, to flower shops and knowing that it, in an admittedly very indirect way, was a part of MY family. But wait... the story gets better....
Turns out the O'Driscolls were a bunch of bloody pirates! So much so that our family castle hosts an exhibition on the history of Irish piracy in which the O'Driscolls feature prominently, mostly for their continuous plundering of Waterford. It's all starting to make sense now... and this photo that my friend took of me just a month earlier in Copenhagen suddenly feels weirdly prophetic:
So... the first bit of family I find outside of the US and Canada turn out to be pirates. Irish pirates, no less. I didn't even know there was such a thing. This may be one of my favorite discoveries to come out of this whole trip, and it makes me want to find out more about the rest of my family ancestry. I was told by a friend that I made in Norway (conveniently AFTER I'd left Norway) that my surname is actually the name of a very small village in Lofoten. I had been within 10 miles of the place, and hadn't even known it! Maybe there is a bit of Scandinavian ancestry in there after all? For now, I'm happy to have gotten to know a bit about the Irish side of my family, and that I can now celebrate St. Patrick's Day with at least a little bit of legitimacy... and maybe an eye patch...Arrrrgh...
When I was in Norway, I was constantly asked by the locals if I was there "looking for my family", as apparently this is a common thing for Americans to do there. I wasn't looking for my family when I set out on this trip, but as it turns out, I found them anyway... well, at least a piece of the puzzle. For starters, there's my cousin in Sweden who I never knew a thing about until a few months ago. She's American, so no ancestral ties to Sweden there, but still, who knew? Staying with her for a couple nights I heard a lot of stories about that branch of the family tree that I'd never heard before, and confirmed that I do, in fact, have Irish ancestry. Weirdly enough, it does NOT come from the New England side of my family, but from the Southern side. My cousin in Sweden pointed me toward other cousins who had more detailed information about our Irish ancestry, some of whom had even gone to the family reunions that are held every summer in the tiny southern village of Baltimore in West Cork, where the O'Driscoll clan hails from. I had been to Ireland once before this trip, and had gone down to Cork, so I hadn't planned on heading south again this time around, but the allure of finally exploring a place that I had definite family ties to was too great to pass up, and so after a couple nights in Dublin, it was off to Baltimore.
 |
Turns out the O'Driscolls were a bunch of bloody pirates! So much so that our family castle hosts an exhibition on the history of Irish piracy in which the O'Driscolls feature prominently, mostly for their continuous plundering of Waterford. It's all starting to make sense now... and this photo that my friend took of me just a month earlier in Copenhagen suddenly feels weirdly prophetic:
So... the first bit of family I find outside of the US and Canada turn out to be pirates. Irish pirates, no less. I didn't even know there was such a thing. This may be one of my favorite discoveries to come out of this whole trip, and it makes me want to find out more about the rest of my family ancestry. I was told by a friend that I made in Norway (conveniently AFTER I'd left Norway) that my surname is actually the name of a very small village in Lofoten. I had been within 10 miles of the place, and hadn't even known it! Maybe there is a bit of Scandinavian ancestry in there after all? For now, I'm happy to have gotten to know a bit about the Irish side of my family, and that I can now celebrate St. Patrick's Day with at least a little bit of legitimacy... and maybe an eye patch...Arrrrgh...
No comments:
Post a Comment