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.
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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.

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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