Jan 23


    My great ancestor---the official relationship title lost over the years---came from France in 1674 to Quebec. His name was Jean D’Aigle. Only twenty-four-years old, he made the biggest decision of his life and chose to pick up his things and move to the New World. He comes from my father’s father side, or my grandpa, who I’ve always been told was French-Canadian, but I have never thought about what that really meant.
    When Jean first came to America, he wanted to be a farmer. He bought his first plot of land for eighty livres, the French currency at the time, which converts to about one hundred and twelve American dollars.
    The farming life must not have suited him, as not long after he gave up and became a soldier. In 1682, he boarded a ship and fought against the British, helping take down many of their forts. Jean came back to Quebec in 1683 and decided that he wanted to build a home and family, so he married Marie Anne Perroteau, my great (great, great, great....) grandmother, in 1685.
    And then, a few centuries later, there's me. 
    These facts maybe not be completely true. But that is the beauty of history, isn’t it? It has its gaps and its blanks, and leaves the present to wonder just exactly what happened, and there will never be any way of knowing.