Welcome to Our Site

It was my dad's fault. He should have known. You can never keep family secrets secret from a curious and nosy daughter like me

This is how it began..

My father told me his mother was French. He told me his mother's parents were from France. He did mention his grandmother might have been from Belgium. .  He shared that my Grandmother, Mathilda Nicolle, had a smattering of brothers scattered here and there,  and one horrible sister she was close to. He flinched when he told me his mother died when he and his twin brother were about 12 years old. And yes, they were left in the hands of that horrid aunt to be raised and abused by her while her passive husband went into another room.

End of Story.. That was all of the story and details, I could harvest from him

Thus starts the 25 plus years of search and research into what I eventually found to be sad and tragic stories of my grandmother, Mathilda née Nicolle Hootman, and the equally sad and tragic stories of her parents and direct siblings.

So here I am, with my computer in front of me, I'm on a mission to document what I have found out, and write out the histories so my ancestors do not fade into obscurity...

Bones of my bone...

he bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our ancestors ere able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are today. It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, their never giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for their family. It goes to deep pride that the fathers fought and some died to make and keep us a nation. It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us. It is of equal pride and love that our mothers struggled to give us birth, without them we could not exist, and so we love each one, as far back as we can reach. That we might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are they and they are the sum of who we are. So, as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take my place in the long line of family storytellers. That is why I do my family genealogy, and that is what calls those young and old to step up and restore the memory or greet those who we had never known before. It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us. It is of equal pride and love that our mothers struggled to give us birth, without them we could not exist, and so we love each one, as far back as we can reach. That we might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are they and they are the sum of who we are. So, as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take my place in the long line of family storytellers. That is why I do my family genealogy, and that is what calls those young and old to step up and restore the memory or greet those who we had never known before.

by Della M. Cummings Wright; Rewritten by her granddaughter Dell Jo Ann McGinnis Johnson; Edited and Reworded by Tom Dunn, 1943.