2026 - The Big Decision: The Trial of the Odenwald Wizard

 Wilhelm Lautenschlager 1565 - 1632   

My 10^th Great Grandfather

The Theives' Tower
Michelstadt, Erbach, Hesse, Germany
The Theives' Tower was built around 950 AD. It served as a prison from about 1312 onwards

Michelstadt Tourism - Diebsturm - Stadt Michelstadt

In the rugged, fog-drenched landscape of 17th-century Odenwald, the line between medicine and magic was as thin as a mountain mist. For Wilhelm Lautenschläger, your 9th great-grandfather, this boundary was more than a professional challenge—it became a matter of life and death. Known to history as the “Wise Man of Güttersbach,” Wilhelm occupied a dangerous social space: a healer beloved by the desperate and loathed by the authorities

A Legacy of Healing and Lore

Wilhelm was not a "wizard" in the sense of fairy tales, but a man of profound natural intellect. He inherited his "Big Decision” the choice to dedicate his life to the healing arts—from his mother, a midwife whose skill with herbs was so renowned the nobility consulted her.

Armed with a precious herbal book, knowledge gleaned from Romani travelers, and a deep understanding of the forest, Wilhelm’s practice flourished. On some days, more than 20 people would queue at his door. He was a master of the local flora:

• Bear’s breeches for "dead blood" in children.
• Elderflower (Hollerstock) and "fire stones" for agonizing joint pain.
• Hyssop and walnut leaves for internal ailments.

Bear's breeches                            Elderflower                                     Hyssop

However, Wilhelm’s success was tethered to a risky performance. To satisfy a superstitious public, he didn't just provide tea; he analyzed the souls of the sick by peering through his eyeglasses at their shirts, "speaking" to the garments as if the patient were present.

The Conflict Ignites

As Wilhelm’s fame grew, so did the tension. He was not just a doctor; he was a finder of lost goods and a namer of thieves. This "Big Decision" to involve himself in communal disputes led to a violent fray with a man known as the "Old Egg-Buyer," leaving the man bedridden for months.

For the local priest, this was the final straw. Wilhelm was branded a quack and a servant of the devil. The authorities of the Odenwald—a region generally spared the worst of the era's witch-burnings—could no longer look away. Wilhelm was arrested and hauled to the Michelstadt Tower.

Michelstadt, Erbach, Hesse, Germany

The Trial and the Final Vow

Inside the cold stone walls of the prison, Wilhelm faced three judges. This was his ultimate "Big Decision": Hold his ground as a man of power or humble himself to survive.

During the interrogation, the judges tested his "supernatural" skills by presenting him with clothing from sick strangers. When his diagnoses failed to hit the mark under the pressure of the court, Wilhelm realized the gravity of his situation. In an era where "idolatry" often led to the stake, Wilhelm chose the path of strategic repentance.

The resulting judgment was surprisingly lenient testament to his genuine popularity or the baronial family's lingering respect for his mother’s work. Instead of the gallows, Wilhelm was sentenced to:

1.     Public Church Penance: A special Sunday sermon where he was the subject of the lesson.

2.     A Written Apology: A formal confession where he admitted to being "misled by fraudulent gypsies" and "following the devil."

3.     A Heavy Fine: A financial blow meant to ensure he would never again "tempt" the public with fortune-telling.

The Wise Man’s Choice

Wilhelm Lautenschläger’s story is a fascinating glimpse into a world transitioning from folklore to formal law. His "Big Decision" to sign that confession saved his life and allowed my lineage to continue. He walked out of the Michelstadt Tower not as a wizard, but as a man who had successfully navigated the most dangerous "spell" of all: the legal system of the 1600s.

Michelstadt Castle 

LINEAGE - Nancy Simmons - Paul Simmons - Walter Simmons - Andrew Simmons - Phoebe Rexroad - John Rexroad - George Rexroad - Zacharias Rexroad - Balthasar Rexroth - Balthasar Rexroth - Elisabetha Lautenschläger - Hans Lautenschläger - Wilhelm Lautenschläger

SOURCES:

Genealogy.net, Local Family Register (Odenwald) Family Report, Wilhelm Lautenschlager, KB Erbach/ Güttersbach/AL Klipstein, https://ofb.genealogy.net/famreport.php?ofb=erbach&ID=00011560L&nachname=Lautenschl%C3%A4ger&modus=&lang=de

Michelstadt Tourism - Diebsturm - Stadt Michelstadt

Von Banse, Heidi, Odenwald-Forum, Lützelbach, Germany:Heimatund Geschichtsverein, 2013-2016. Allen County Public Library.

 

2026 - What the Census Suggests -

 The Thomas & Eliza Larkins Family – My 3^rd Great Aunt & Uncle

Lineage - Nancy Simmons, Josephine Martin, Edward Martin, Francis Martin, Elizabeth Larkins, William Larkins’ brother& wife, Thomas & Eliza (Martin) Larkins

Eliza (Martin) 1836-1923 and Thomas Larkins 1824-1911
Photo enhanced withChatGPT

The 1880 Federal Census for Springwells, Wayne County, Michigan, appears unremarkable at a glance. It lists my 3rd great-uncle, Thomas Larkins, a 52-year-old farmer who, like many men of his era, could neither read nor write. Born in Michigan in 1824 to Irish immigrants, he lived with his wife, Eliza (Martin), and their four young sons: Thomas (10), George (8), William (5), and Edward (2).

However, a closer look at the ledger reveals a more complex story hidden in the small tick marks of the "Health" columns.

1880 Federal Census - Springwells, Wayne County, Michigan 

A Quiet Discovery

Every census reflects the concerns of its era. In 1880, the form included specific inquiries regarding physical and mental health. In column 17—the slot reserved for those "deaf and dumb" there are distinct marks for three of the four Larkins children: Thomas, George, and William. Only two-year-old Edward remained unmarked.

The realization was overwhelming. In an era with limited social safety nets, Thomas and Eliza were raising three children with significant disabilities.

To dig deeper, I turned to the 1880 Supplemental Schedules of Defective, Dependent, and Delinquent Classes (the "DDD" Schedule). This specialized census provides heartbreakingly blunt categories for the era: "Insane, Idiots, Deaf-mutes, Blind, Paupers, Homeless Children, and Prisoners."

1880 Federal Census Schedules of Defective, Dependent, and Delinquent Classes 

The supplemental record for the Larkins family confirms the diagnosis: all three boys had been deaf since birth. Critically, it also notes that they had never been institutionalized. In a time when many families were pressured to send children with disabilities to state asylums, Thomas and Eliza kept their sons at home.

Resilience Across the Decades

Because the 1890 census was tragically destroyed by fire, we have a twenty-year gap in the family’s story. When the curtain rises again in the 1900 and 1910 censuses, the narrative shifts from one of struggle to one of remarkable resilience.

By 1910, Thomas was 86 and Eliza was 76. All four sons—including Joseph (likely the Edward of the 1880 census)—were still living at home or on the family land. The most incredible revelation? Every single son was now listed as being able to read and write. Despite their inability to hear or speak, the Larkins boys had gained the literacy their father never had. They also possessed trade skills that allowed them to contribute to their community:

• Thomas: Farmer
• George: Cabinet Maker
• William: Bee-keeper
• Joseph: Brick Maker

1910 Federal Census - Springwells, Wayne County, Michigan 

A Legacy of Care

The 1880 census suggested a family facing a bleak future. However, the subsequent decades prove that Thomas and Eliza provided a home where their sons didn't just survive—they thrived. They learned to communicate, they learned to work, and they remained a cohesive unit.

The family’s journey eventually came to a quiet end in Detroit. Thomas passed away in 1911 at the age of 87, followed by Eliza in 1923. One by one, their sons followed: William in 1924, Thomas in 1951, George in 1958, and Joseph in 1972. Today, they are all buried together in Section L of Woodmere Cemetery—a final, silent testament to a family that stayed together against the odds.

LARKINS - Family Monument Stone
Woodmere Cemetery, Detroit, Wayne County, Michigan
Larkins Family buried in Section L

Sources:

1880 Federal Census (Population Schedule)

Tenth Census of the United States, 1880. (NARA microfilm publication T9, 1,454 rolls). Records of the Bureau of the Census, Record Group 29. National Archives, Washington, D.C.

• Specific Entry: Michigan, Wayne County, Springwells Township, Enumeration District (ED) 263, page 364C (stamped), family 246, lines 1–6, Thomas Larkins household.

1880 Supplemental Schedule (DDD)

1880 Schedules of Defective, Dependent, and Delinquent Classes. Michigan. National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

• Specific Entry: Wayne County, Springwells, Enumeration District 263, Page 1, Line 1–3, Thomas, George, and William Larkins.

1910 Federal Census (Population Schedule)

Thirteenth Census of the United States, 1910. (NARA microfilm publication T624, 1,178 rolls). Records of the Bureau of the Census, Record Group 29. National Archives, Washington, D.C.

• Specific Entry: Michigan, Wayne County, Springwells Township, Enumeration District 163, Sheet 15A, family 283, Thomas Larkins household.

2026 - Favorite Photo

 Susan Phoebe "Susie" Simmons: 1890-1971 – My Great Aunt

This photograph of my great-aunt, Susan Phebe "Susie" Simmons, is a family favorite. Taken around 1894, it captures a four-year-old Susie sitting on the axle of an old farm cart, cradling a chicken with a comfort that speaks to her life on a West Virginia farm. Her neatly braided hair contrasts with a mended, well-worn dress—a visual testament to a child who was deeply loved and cared for despite the humble social conditions of the time.

Andrew Lincoln Simmons, Susan Lavina Cokeley Simmons 
and Susan Phoebe "Susie" Simmons photo taken about 1891
Photo enhanced with MyHeritage

Susie was born on September 4, 1890, in Harrisville, Ritchie County, West Virginia. Her early life was marked by sudden loss; just after her second birthday in 1892, her mother, Susan Lavina Cokeley, passed away at only 25 years old due to complications from a miscarriage.

Following this tragedy, Susie’s life took a different path than her father’s:

• The Household in West Virginia: Susie was raised to adulthood by her maternal grandmother, Susan Cokeley, and her aunt, Mary Cokeley. By 1900, census records show ten-year-old Susie living with them in Ritchie County.
• A Father’s New Path: Her father, Andrew Simmons, eventually moved to Missouri and later Illinois to serve as a Methodist minister. He remarried and started a second family, giving Susie several half-siblings she likely only knew through the regular letters they exchanged.

Susan Phoebe "Susie" Simmons
Photo taken about 1910 - Enhanced with MyHeritage

The year 1912 was a turning point for Susie. She married her first husband, Wade Hampton Riggs, and gave birth to her first daughter, Inez Virginia, the following year. However, heartbreak followed:

• Double Loss: In 1915 and 1916, Susie lost both her grandmother and her aunt—the two women who had been her surrogate parents since she was a toddler.
• A New Beginning: After a divorce in 1917 and the birth of twin boys, Susie found lasting stability when she married Harmon E. Webb in 1920. Together, they had two more children, Hosea Earl and Pearl Marie.

Susan Phoebe "Susie" Simmons Riggs and her first child Inez Virginia Riggs
Photo taken about 1915, Enhanced with ChatGPT 

Susie spent the next 47 years in Harrisville, West Virginia. She was a fixture in her community, eventually helping her daughter run a local restaurant. Though she outlived her husband and two of her children, she remained a resilient figure until her death on May 20, 1971, at the age of 80.

It is a striking coincidence that I began my family research the same year Susie passed away. While my father knew little of his West Virginia roots due to his own father’s early death, this photograph serves as a bridge across time. I often find myself wishing I could have sat with that small child from the picture and talked to her about her long, full life in the hills of Ritchie County.

Susie P. Webb born Sept. 4, 1890- Died May 20, 1971
Buried at Harrisville IOOF Cemetery, Harrisville, Ritchie Co., WV

2026 - My Breakthrough Moment

James Roberson 1773-1815 – Howard’s 4th Great-Grandfather

For more than 30 years, I had been searching for the origins of James Roberson, my husband’s 4^th great grandfather. I knew James was born about 1775 in South Carolina, that he married Martha Davis, and that they had three children before moving to Giles County, Tennessee. A probate record in Giles County confirmed that James had died and Martha was his widow, but nothing pointed clearly to James’s father or siblings.

Giles County, Tennessee Probate Record 1815
Estate of James Robertson

In South Carolina, I found tantalizing clues—deeds in Laurens County involving a John Robertson and a Basil Robertson, including one where John sold land to a James O. Robertson. I suspected a connection, but without documentation, it remained only a hypothesis. Census records placed Basil in Warren County, Kentucky, and James in Giles County, Tennessee, but the relationship between them was still a mystery.

Deed Records - Laurens County, South Carolina
James Odell Robertson / John Robertson / Martha Robertson

I even traveled to Bowling Green, Kentucky, to research at Western Kentucky University. A librarian there, who happened to be a descendant of Basil Robertson, believed our families were connected, but neither of us could prove how. Later, a Y-DNA match from a gentleman in Texas strengthened the case that my husband’s line was tied to Basil’s family. Still, the exact relationship eluded me. I began to think Basil might be James’s brother, with John Robertson of Laurens County as their father.

And then came the moment that changed everything.

One day, I opened FamilySearch to review Basil’s profile, hoping to find a deed linking him to South Carolina or Kentucky. Instead, I found something entirely unexpected: a probate record for a Basil Robertson of Warren County, Kentucky, born in 1745 and died in 1831. Not just one record—several. His children had contested his will, and the estate took nearly twelve years to settle. The documents revealed disputes over the sale of enslaved people and disagreements with the executor, one of Basil’s sons.

The probate papers listed all of Basil’s children—and among them was a son named James Robertson, married to a Martha, with all their children named as heirs.

Warren County, Kenntucky - Chancery Court Record - Heirs of Basil Roberson 
Martha Roberson, widow of James Roberson deceased, John, James, Reginal "Nig", Henry, Bazel & Nathan, sons of James Roberson deceased. Nancy, Elizabeth & Martha, Eleanor, daughters of James Roberson deceased.
-

There it was. After decades of searching, the answer had been waiting in a probate packet in Warren County, Kentucky. James wasn’t Basil’s brother—he was Basil’s son.

I sat there stunned. After thirty years of piecing together clues, chasing records across states, studying deeds, census entries, and DNA matches, the truth finally emerged from a single set of probate documents. It was my breakthrough moment—one I wish I could have shared with my mother‑in‑law, my research partner and fellow Roberson detective. She would have been thrilled to know that together, we had pushed the Roberson line back one more generation, all the way to Basil Robertson, my husband’s 5^th great grandfather.

Basil Roberson was born about 1749, likely in the Carolinas. Around 1770 he married Mary Ellen—her surname still unknown—and together they raised a large family of eleven children. Their first son, James Odell Roberson, arrived about 1773, and their youngest was born in 1790. Basil served his country during the Revolutionary War, fighting in 1781–1782 in the South Carolina Cavalry under Colonel Maham at the Ninety-Six District garrison. Sometime in the early 1800s Basil moved to Hardcastle, Warren County, Kentucky where he died in 1831 and several of his decendants still live. 

Children of James & Martha (Davis) Roberson 
As listed in Warren County, Kentucky Chancery Court Records

2026 - A Theory in Progress

 A Theory in Progress: The Case of the Two Catarinas

Every genealogist knows the siren song of a "perfect" hint on a family tree. You find a name that matches, the dates are close enough, and suddenly, a brick wall seems to crumble. But as I’ve learned with my ancestor, Catarina Barbara Froelich, what looks like a breakthrough is often just a detour into someone else’s history.

For the 52 Ancestors in 62 Weeks challenge, my prompt is "A Theory in Progress." Today, that theory focuses on disentangling Catarina from a persistent case of mistaken identity and refocusing my search on the soil of Berks County, Pennsylvania.

---

The New York Trap

If you search for Catarina Froelich online, you will find dozens of trees naming her parents as Johann Valentine Froelich and Anna Apollonia of Ulster, New York. It’s a tidy conclusion—except for one glaring problem: the facts don't fit.

The New York Catarina married Conrad Delange in 1743 in Dutchess County. Records show she remained with him, moving eventually to Ontario, Canada, where she died in 1790. Meanwhile, my Catarina was busy establishing a life in Pennsylvania. On March 29, 1748, she married Johann Heinrich Deck in Tulpehocken, Berks County.

Feature	The "Other" Catarina	My Catarina Barbara
Spouse	Conrad Delange (m. 1743)	Johann Heinrich Deck (m. 1748)
Location	Ulster/Dutchess Co, NY	Berks County, PA
Death	1790, Ontario, Canada	After 1774, Augusta Co, VA

The Pennsylvania Theory

Because Catarina married in Tulpehocken, my working theory is that her origins lie within the tight-knit German community of the Tulpehocken Settlement.

We know Heinrich Deck’s family were pioneers in the area. His parents, Johan Nicholas and Anna Deck, arrived on the ship Saint Andrew Galley in 1734 and settled in Bethel township, Berks County, Pennsylvania. They were active members of Christ Lutheran Church in Stouchsburg, Pennsylvania. It stands to reason that Catharina’s family lived within a day’s ride of this congregation.

Christ Lutheran Church, Stouchsburg, Berks, Pennsylvania

Expanding the Search: Who were the Froelich Men?

To move this theory forward, I am shifting my focus from "Catharina" to the Froelich men of Berks County between 1730 and 1750.

• Proximity is Key: I am currently scouring the pastoral records of Rev. John Caspar Stoever and the Christ Church registers for any Froelich (or Fröhlich) sponsors at baptisms. In German tradition, sponsors were almost always close relatives.
• The Land Records: I am investigating land warrants in Bethel and Tulpehocken. If a Froelich man owned land adjacent to the Decks, the connection becomes much stronger.
• Naming Patterns: Heinrich and Catharina moved to Augusta County, Virginia, where Heinrich died in 1774. I am analyzing the names of their children to see if they follow the traditional German naming pattern (naming the first sons and daughters after grandparents).

The Next Step

The New York theory is officially debunked. My theory in progress now rests on the belief that Catarina was either the daughter of a 1730s Palatine immigrant who settled directly in Berks County or perhaps a member of the Froelich family that arrived in Philadelphia and pushed west.

The wall hasn't come down yet, but the foundation is finally being built on the right ground.

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2026 - What This Story Means to Me

 Julia Martin (1808–1894): Strength Across an Ocean

Some ancestors leave behind thick paper trails; others leave only faint footprints. My three‑times‑great‑grandmother, Julia Martin, belongs to the second group. Yet her story—fragmented, incomplete, and full of unanswered questions—means more to me than many whose lives are better documented. The prompt “What This Story Means to Me” invites reflection, and Julia’s life offers a powerful reminder of endurance, courage, and the quiet strength of immigrant women whose stories rarely made the history books.

Julia was born in October 1808, likely in County Sligo, Ireland, though her maiden name remains undiscovered. Irish research is notoriously challenging—lost parish records, inconsistent spellings, and the devastation of the Great Famine have left many families with gaps that may never be filled. Still, what we do know paints a vivid picture of a woman who lived through extraordinary times.

Kilmactranny Church of Ireland
Built 1810

She married Edward Martin on August 1, 1829, and their first child, Margaret Isabelle, was born the following year. Over the next twelve years, four more daughters arrived, all born in Ireland. Sometime after May 1842 and before May 1844, Julia and Edward made the life‑altering decision to leave Ireland. They departed just before the worst years of the potato famine, joining thousands of families fleeing poverty, crop failure, and political uncertainty.

Probate record that states the place and year Juliia married Edward Martin
Parish of Kilmactranny, County Sligo, Ireland
August 1, 1828

Their exact immigration path is unknown, but history offers clues. Many Irish immigrants landed in New York, traveled west along the Erie Canal, and then moved through Ohio toward the Great Lakes. Julia’s son John, born in Ohio in 1844, supports this likely route. By 1846, when her youngest child, Edward William, was born, the family had reached Springwells, Wayne County, Michigan, a growing settlement on the outskirts of Detroit.

In 1845, Edward purchased roughly 150 acres of land, and at his death in 1854 his estate was valued at $11,924.86—equivalent to roughly $450,000 today. For an Irish immigrant family, this represented years of labor, sacrifice, and careful planning. But the promise of that security was shaken when Edward died at just 55, leaving Julia a widow with six children still at home.

Edward Martin's Personal Property and Real Estate Value
1854 Probate record - Edward Martin Estate Inventory 
Valued at $11,924.80 in 1854 - Today value about $450,000.00

Probate records initially named Julia as executor, but within weeks she was declared “insane,” a term often used in the 19th century for widows overwhelmed by grief, stress, or the sudden burden of managing property. Her son‑in‑law, Owen Patterson, took over the estate, only to die himself in 1857.

During these years, they were land wealthy but cash flow poor, Julia and her five daughters supported themselves as seamstresses. The probate ledger shows purchases of calico, buttons, thread, and needles—small but telling details that reveal how they stitched together a living while the family relied on the estate for survival. Over time, lots from the original land purchase were sold to cover expenses, taxes, and the needs of a household without its primary provider.

By 1874, after all the children had reached the age of twenty‑one, the youngest son, Edward, petitioned for a final partition of the estate. What had once been a substantial property had dwindled to the point that each heir received only $78.57, roughly $2,200 today. It is a stark reminder of how quickly a family’s fortune could evaporate in the face of widowhood, legal fees, and the economic realities of frontier life.

Yet Julia endured. She raised seven children to adulthood and watched them build lives of their own. Her daughters Margaret, Mary Jane, and Eliza married and established homes in Michigan and Wisconsin. Two daughters, Fanny and Susan, became teachers. Her sons, John and Edward William, remained close to home, with Edward continuing to farm the land his father had purchased decades earlier.

When Julia died in 1894, the remaining property was divided among her heirs, closing a forty‑year chapter of survival, adaptation, and quiet perseverance.

1874 Partition of Estate -
 Each heir received $78.57 (Today's value $2,200.00)
Notice each one signed the document in their own handwriting!

What This Story Means to Me

Julia’s story is meaningful to me not because it is complete, but because it is not. The missing pieces—her maiden name, her parents, her siblings, the details of her journey—remind me how many women’s stories were never fully recorded. Yet the strength of her life shines through the fragments.

She crossed an ocean in her forties, left behind everything familiar, buried a husband far too soon, and still managed to raise a family that survived, adapted, and thrived. She worked with her hands, stretched every resource, and held her family together through decades of uncertainty. Her courage echoes across generations.

Julia Martin 1808-1894
Buried in family plot at Elmwood Cemetery
Detroit, Wayne, Michigan

2026 - Prompt - A Record That Adds Color

Wearing Orange: Discovering My Dutch Roots 

Orange was never a color I associated with my family. It belonged to sports teams, fall leaves, or festive decorations—but never to my ancestry. That changed recently, when a single discovery transformed a long-abandoned family line into a vivid story that reached back to seventeenth-century New Amsterdam and revealed my Dutch heritage.

My journey began many years ago with two stubborn brick walls: my great-great-grandfather, Jacob Wilcox, and his wife Margaret Smith. Jacob seemed to appear from nowhere, with no traceable life before 1850. Margaret, meanwhile, was the daughter of John Smith—a name guaranteed to halt any genealogist in their tracks. After years of searching without progress, I reluctantly set both lines aside. Some mysteries, I believed then, were simply unsolvable.

Life moved on. In 2002, my son married, and a few years later I decided to research my daughter-in-law’s family as a gift. I traced her ancestors back into New England, and while doing so, a familiar surname surfaced: Dingman. The coincidence caught my attention. Dingman is not a common name, and the fact that it appeared in both our families was intriguing—but at the time, I set the thought aside after researching her line about six generations back.

Fast forward to this past fall. Our local Genealogical Society planned its annual research trip to Salt Lake City, and I needed a focused project. I decided to revisit the Dingman surname, wondering if my daughter-in-law might somehow be related to her husband. That question became my research mission.

As I dug into her Dingman line, I identified a Christopher Dingman, a fifth-great-grandfather born in New York who later lived in Michigan. At the same time, I reflected on my own Catherine Dingman, born about 1810. The dates were close enough to raise an exciting possibility: could Catherine and Christopher be siblings or first cousins?

Following Christopher’s line led me back five more generations to Adam Dingman, born in Haarlem, Netherlands, in 1631, who immigrated to New Amsterdam around 1653. This discovery alone was thrilling—but the real breakthrough came as I reconstructed Christopher’s immediate family. His father was Rodolphus Dingman, born 3 Dec 1775, married to Maria Forncrook 11 Jun 1794.

Christopher Dingman
Gratiot County, Michigan Death Record
Parents: Rudolphus Dingman & Maria Dingman

That stopped me cold. Catherine Dingman’s death certificate listed her father as Christopher Dingman and her mother as Maria. What if the Christopher named on her death certificate wasn’t her father—but her brother?

Catherine (Dingman) Smith
Monroe County, Michigan Death Record
Parents: Christopher Dingman & Maria Dingman

I built out the family of Rodolphus and Maria, carefully examining New York census records and other documentation. The couple had eleven children, and among the older ones was Christopher, born 18 Aug 1798. There was room in the family for a Catherine born 24 Aug 1810. Piece by piece, the evidence aligned. Though still based on secondary sources, the conclusion seemed increasingly clear: Catherine was likely a daughter of Rodolphus and Maria—and the sister of Christopher. 

I built out the family of Rodolphus and Maria, carefully examining New York census records and other documentation. The couple had eleven children, and among the older ones was Christopher, born 18 Aug 1798. There was room in the family for a Catherine born 24 Aug 1810. Piece by piece, the evidence aligned. Though still based on secondary sources, the conclusion seemed increasingly clear: Catherine was likely a daughter of Rodolphus and Maria—and the sister of Christopher.

Then came Christmas.

After opening gifts, I shared a beautifully crafted fan chart I had created in Salt Lake City with my grandchildren, explaining how it was possible that their father and mother were distant cousins. My daughter-in-law mentioned this to her mother the next day—and that conversation changed everything.

Her mother called me soon after, excited and surprised. She explained that she had inherited genealogy papers her grandmother had compiled in the 1920s and 1930s. As she reviewed them, she found a handwritten list of Rodolphus and Maria Dingman’s children. There, in black and white, were the names: Christopher, born in 1802—and beneath him, Katherine Dingman, born in 1810, married to John Smith.

Bingo.

Catherine Wife of John W. Smith
Died 10 Dec 1868
Azalia Cemetery, Azalia, Monroe, Michigan

That single page provided the direct evidence I had been missing for decades. With that confirmation—combined with years of census records, death certificates, and careful analysis—I could finally say with confidence that I descend from Adam Dingman, a Dutch immigrant to New Amsterdam.

Dingman Family Research by Blanche Walker 1899-1995
Blanche's great grandfather was Christopher Dingman 1798-1871
Research papers in possession of Suzanne Smith Nelson

After all these years, the family line I once abandoned had not disappeared—it had simply been waiting. Now, when I wear orange, it’s no longer just a color. It’s a symbol of persistence, discovery, and a Dutch heritage reclaimed at last