I’ve been lucky enough in life to have a mom who is interested in genealogy and have been lucky enough that my lineage can be tracked back quite a ways. Every Thanksgiving I’m reminded that I’m descended from pilgrims. I’ve known of my relation to Richard Warren, a signer of the Mayflower Compact, since elementary school. He’s an ancestor of mine on my mom’s side of the family. This year, however, in preparation for this article I asked my mom about my family tree to learn more about those that came before me and found out more than I anticipated. Not only am I a descendant of a signer, but I’m also a descendant of one of the 4 women who survived long enough to be present at the first Thanksgiving, Mary Brewster. I found out my dad’s side of the family came over on the Mayflower as well. Through him, I’m related to William Bradford, the governor of Plymouth, and John Howland, most well known for falling overboard the Mayflower and surviving to tell the tale. They all lived so close to one another in Plymouth, nearly next-door neighbors!
While not the most thrilling thing to find out, learning about this got me thinking. It’s so crazy to me that both sides of my family tree brushed elbows thirteen generations ago, not knowing what the far-off future had in store for them. While just a bit of a coincidence for them, strangers and saints alike, to be sailing on the same ship and ultimately living as neighbors in the same community, without them I wouldn’t be here, a first-generation college student, writing this article.
What’s even weirder is that this isn’t the first time these sides brushed up against each other. Both sides in their own time had ultimately moved to Kingston, New York, where my dad’s side of the family was baptized in the same church that my ninth great-grandfather on my mom’s side was a pastor at, less than a lifetime later. I’m hit with the same quite convenient coincidence I’ve been hit with already— these two paths just barely brush by each other before going their separate ways, none wiser.
I’ve been blessed with another convenient turn in the story for me— while not at the same time, both sides of the family happened to find themselves moving westward. My third great-grandfather on my mom’s side moved to Oregon before 1905, and then ultimately moved down to California less than 15 years later. While my dad’s family moved westward a little earlier, they hadn’t made it to Washington until 1918. It’s awful convenient for me that they both made this decision, paving the way for my parents to meet one another in California.
Getting ready for Thanksgiving yet again, I’m certainly grateful they all decided to sail away from England. I’m thankful they mingled in New York and travelled to the Pacific Northwest before heading south to California. If even one person wasn’t right where they were, I can’t guarantee that I’d even exist. So for all the opportunities and blessings I’ve experienced in my life, I have my family, all of it, to thank.