Guess we now know which Genealogy software companies use Amazon! MyHeritage.com and Findmypast.com are up and running. (2 PM Eastern)
I hope this is a wake up call to all of you who haven't SYNCHED or DOWNLOADED your trees elsewhere!
All of the software companies are working. I'm able to access all of my info because I've saved it other than Ancestry.com and FamilySearch.org.
When the cloud service is restored you may want to read my blog articles on how you can prepare for the next time. Here's the how to for FREE - Legacy Family Tree does not synch but you can upload a downloaded .gedcom from Ancestry. This means you won't have pictures of the census or any other media but you will have the information about your ancestors. This older blog article talks about a previous version of Family Tree Maker, I've updated to the latest and greatest which fixed the problem I encountered and provided the work around. I don't use FTM's vault, a cloud service, but you might want to consider it given what's happened today with Ancestry. I no longer use RootsMagic since version 8 as later updates would not allow me to synch with Ancestry. They do have a free version for smaller trees you could download. I do appreciate that their tech folks recommended I try downloading my tree with the free version to see if the problem was corrected; it wasn't but they are aware of it and working on it. Click here for the free version.
Your genealogy research does not have to stop when a part of the internet breaks. Go make a cup of tea, write up what you've been working on, and make a plan for the future so you don't get caught without access to your information. Here's links to an older blog about writing up your research using AI. If you aren't comfortable with AI, here's an alternative. Remember, once upon a time there was no "online" for us to use to help us with genealogy.
As genealogists, we spend hours pulling records, analyzing handwriting, and piecing together family connections. Most of that work happens in the collecting stage, we hunt down wills, census pages, land deeds, and church registers. But it isn’t until we write that we begin to see what those records are really telling us.
Writing forces a shift in how our brains work. Collecting records is like gathering puzzle pieces. Writing is when you finally flip the pieces right-side up and begin to see the picture. Patterns emerge that you hadn’t noticed before. Gaps in the timeline become obvious. A stray witness on a deed suddenly matters because you’re weaving the story instead of cataloging the fragments.
I saw this firsthand with my ancestor Daniel Hollingshead. I had collected a mountain of records: tax documents from Cheshire, court cases, marriage records from Barbados, and family land deeds in New Jersey. It wasn’t until I began to write his story that the threads pulled tight. Suddenly, the narrative was clear:
A grandfather’s failure as a tax collector plunges the family into crisis.
An uncle flees to Barbados after funds are stolen.
A young Daniel joins the military, is posted to Barbados, and marries into sugar wealth.
He returns to New Jersey with enslaved people, rising socially but carrying moral shadows with him.
The facts were always there in the records. But the story, the irony, the Atlantic World connections, the moral reckoning , only emerged when I tried to explain it in writing.
That’s the hidden power of writing: it doesn’t just preserve what you’ve learned, it teaches you something new. Writing sharpens your research questions, reveals new avenues to explore, and brings ancestors to life in ways a database never can.
So the next time you feel stuck in the research grind, try writing a short biography or family sketch. Even a rough draft will show you what you’ve missed. You might be surprised at what discoveries are hiding , not in the archives, but in your own words.
Are you tired of Google telling you that you need to purchase more storage? Are they threatening to shut down your email? One way to lessen the storage is to remove your photos from Google Photos. You can do this in batches which makes the task quicker. Here’s a quick how to. The photos below were taken on Sunday, August 7, 2016. I want to save all of them so I click the checkbox next to the date. If you don't want to save all, click the checkboxes next the pictures you want to save:
Click the 3 dots and select download
The download will pop up and click it.
Now, drop and drag to your Desktop. There you can rename – I add the date.
I create a folder by year (Right click your mouse, click “New” “Folder” and name the folder by year.
When done with saving the photos for that year, I drop the folder into Dropbox.
If you have a lot of pics, you can easily extract them at one time. Simply click the “Extract All” icon:
Make sure you have created a folder to place them in or they will be all over your desktop!
Just select the folder from Browse and click “Extract.”
Next you’ll want to delete the Google Photos you’ve saved.
Simply click the dates again and the checkmarks will return.
Click the 3 dots and select delete.
The deleted photos will remain for 60 days in Google Photos Trash; if you need to clear up space immediately, on the side bar, under Collections, scroll down (it’s hidden) to Trash:
4. Clicking on Trash will bring up all the photos you deleted. To lessen your storage numbers, click empty trash and they will all permanently disappear – make sure you are ready to get rid of them as you will not be able to retrieve them after emptying trash.
I’ll be honest, my storage numbers did not significantly drop after deleting large amounts of photos but they have stopped harassing me to buy more space! I also have a lot of emails saved which I plan to move out of Gmail. Will give you the process in an upcoming blog.
As an added safeguard, back up your Dropbox to a stand alone hard drive!
The weather hasn't yet cooled and I'm not complaining but it is officially fall.
Before I get back to writing my next and final (hooray!) family genealogy book on our Great British lines I decided I had to practice what I preach and take care of some pressing tech tasks that I have put off for way too long. The first was really bothering me as it was boring and there are so many more interesting things to do in genealogy then preserve photos.
Long ago, in 2002, a world that was radically different then today, my cell phone saved all of my photos to a desktop program called Picassa that Google later purchased. I used that product until 2018 when Google rolled it into Google Photos. That's when my problems began.
When Picassa ceased to exist it lost some of my photos, years 2002, 2007, 2010, and 2019. I wasn't worried about 2002 & 2007 as my kids were still in school and I was still scrapbooking so I have those photos. I digitized the scrapbooks so we were good. 2010 & 2019, not so much. Sure, other family members probably have some of the photos but I always was the main photographer so much of that is lost. I know, it could be a lot worse but still, not happy about it.
The next issue was with the rollover, some of my photos were doubled and even tripled. New photos were created from group shots - just the heads of whatever the tech decided to select. Then it began creating memory albums. Now that doesn't sound bad but it became a problem because it used up space and Google, tying all their products together, kept reminding me I needed to purchase additional space from them or I could no longer have a functioning email.
Occassionally, I'd go into photos and delete some of the duplicates and albums but they just would pop back up. On my to-do list was to remove ALL of my Google photos, store them in Dropbox, and back them up to a standalone hard drive. BORING. but. necessary.
For Valentine's Day, one of my kids gave me a picture frame where you can store and see changing photos. This gave me the impetus to get the photos out of Google. Next week I'll print the detailed directions on how you can do that fairly quickly and easily, meaning not saving one photo at a time which I initially was doing.
I also realized that I needed to synch my Ancestry.com tree as it's been awhile since I did that. I no longer use RootsMagic and since I last synched, I got a new desktop so I didn't have Family Tree Maker downloaded to it. Now FTM has come out with their update (in May 2025 but it's called 2024, go figure). I somehow missed the promotions but they have one remaining, half price for current license members so I took advantage of it ($40 instead of $80). I decided if I was going to save Dropbox to the stand alone drive I might was well include my Ancestry tree since I've just blogged about how I was working at updating it. Yes, it's still a work in progress but I'd rather save what I have as I'll never be done with it.
Next up was to delete everything on my stand alone drive as it was all old and not relevant so I turned it back to factory settings. Took hours!
Meanwhile, one of our adult kids had their credit card stolen and the thieves, being really stupid - (Jose Lopez - I am calling you stupid!) bought items in their own name and then had it sent to our kids' address. (Now you see why I am calling Jose stupid - really, does he want to get caught? Don't even need a forensic genealogist for that one.)
Jose or whoever was the original thief, was fairly smart at the beginning. Only purchased from stores the kid always uses so for the first two weeks the scam wasn't noticed. Then, boldness hit and the thief began using it for large sums at stores never used by the kid. By the time it was noticed thousands of dollars of items had been purchased but thankfully, some get to be returned to the companies since they arrived at the kid's house. (Jose, did you think you were then going to be a porch pirate, too?) Kid called the credit card company for a dispute and the police to file a report in case Jose was local and was going to be paying a home visit. Cop informed us that a local woman got taken for $499,000 the previous week because they also stole her social security number and took out loans. What a nightmare!
That made me realize it was time for me to update some of my own financial practices.
You may have some items on recurring charges. We've decided to use a separate card for those because it's a major pain to have to contact those vendors to change an account if your card is shut down.
Since the card was stolen locally (we know this for reasons I'm not disclosing so the guilty can get their due, too bad, Jose, that bed you bought won't get you a good night's sleep in jail because it's already been returned) we decided to use one card just for local purchases. It's a card with a good reputation to notice fraud quickly so we won't have to dispute lots of charges when (not if) it get's compromised.
We'll use another reputable card for online only purchases.
If you're thinking, that's a back up for a back up and yes it is, just like we do to save our genealogy data. This led me to realize it's been awhile since I updated my passwords so I spent time doing that as well.
Last task I haven't completed but is equally important, albeit BORING, is saving many of my emails. Lots of them contain genealogical info and I want to make sure the info is saved to the correct ancestor's file in Dropbox. That's my next project and by then, well, it'll probably be time to redo the cycle.
With the colder weather u perhaps coming next week this is a gentle reminder, dear reader, to take a look at your items to do and start plugging away at them.
Have you ever wondered how genealogical researchers who work to repatriate deceased military remains make connections with descendants? Do your messages to DNA matches sometimes go unanswered? Or perhaps you’re hoping to discover who in the family has great-great-grandpa’s Bible. If so, Cheri Hudson Passey’s new book, Genealogy in Reverse: Finding the Living – A Practical Guide for All Genealogists, may be of interest.
This compact volume introduces readers to strategies for locating living relatives. Drawing on her long experience in the field of repatriation research, Passey shares methods for moving beyond records of the dead and into the equally challenging task of connecting with their descendants. While much of genealogy focuses on the past, she reminds us that success often depends on bridging the gap between past and present.
The book also touches on the sensitive issue of privacy and provides advice on how to reach out respectfully to family members who may be reluctant to talk. Passey’s suggestions for phrasing messages and making cold calls will be especially helpful for researchers who find that first step intimidating.
Genealogy often emphasizes discovering those who came before us, but as Passey reminds us, connections with the living can be just as vital. Genealogy in Reverse may not answer every question, yet it provides a starting point for anyone curious about expanding their research beyond the traditional paper trail. For readers who have struggled to make contact with DNA matches or distant cousins, this slim guide may inspire new approaches worth trying. Available from Genealogical.com as an eBook or paperback.
For the past two weeks I’ve been blogging about Ancestry.com’s Pro Tools. You can read about my experience here and here.
Today, I’m going to show you how to clean your Ancestry tree without paying for Pro Tools. It’s super easy and honestly, I wish I’d thought of this years ago.
Start by picking a free or low-cost software program. Family Tree Maker and RootsMagic both sync directly with Ancestry. RootsMagic Essentials is free, but large trees can slow it down (I blogged about that here). If you don’t need access to your photos or documents and just want to focus on fixing errors, you can also download your tree as a GEDCOM and import it into Legacy Family Tree, which is what I did.
I kept things simple. I didn’t need media files for the check up, I just wanted to identify structural problems in my tree.
Here’s how to do it:
On Ancestry, go to your tree.
Click Tree Settings under Trees > Create & Manage Trees.
Scroll down and select Export Tree.
Once complete, download the file to your computer (it usually lands in your Downloads folder or OneDrive).
Open your genealogy software and import the GEDCOM.
Run the problem checker.
If you run into trouble with the software, you can literally ask ChatGPT (aka Geni!) for help. That’s how I found this entire workaround.
Once your tree is loaded, use the software’s built-in tools to flag potential problems. In Legacy, I went to Tools > Potential Problems. I set criteria to mirror the kinds of problems flagged by Ancestry’s Pro Tools, things like parents being too young, children born after a parent’s death, and so on.
One downside: Legacy doesn’t flag individuals with no sources, which was one of the main issues Pro Tools surfaced. But what Legacy did reveal was surprising and far more accurate.
Here’s the report I got from Legacy (the error types flagged by Ancestry are in red):
Let that sink in: 940 total errors, almost all of which are legitimate and actionable. Of that, there was only 55 errors that Ancestry claimed was 301 and they didn't identify these people! I plan on cleaning up all of the errors Legacy found as having two individuals over age 110 years is a problem Ancestry should have discovered. And the individuals with no sex given? That is a continual flaw in Ancestry's system when you are adding new individuals.
Unlike Ancestry’s Tree Checker, which falsely flagged over 10,000+ records in my tree, Legacy gave me a clean, accurate list I could work with. I now have the names and the issues. I’m going through them one by one and making the corrections directly in my Ancestry tree, since that’s still my primary working tree. I’ll continue syncing it with Family Tree Maker.
And if I get another $7 Pro Tools offer in the future? Sure, I might try it again just to check whether they’ve cleaned up the bugs. But I’ll cancel it right after. Because let’s be honest:
If Ancestry really wants our trees to be accurate, they should provide these tools for free.
We are already paying for the data, the DNA, the platform and in many cases, contributing our own hard-earned research. Charging extra for a tree-checking feature (that doesn’t even work right) feels like asking users to fix the foundation of the house they already paid to build.
So, skip the upsell. Use free software. Clean your tree with confidence. And let’s keep our standards higher than their price tags.
Last week, I shared my experience with most of Ancestry.com's Pro Tools—an add-on offered for $10/month (I got in for $7 with a promotional email). You can read about those features here. Today, I’ll dive into the tool that motivated me to subscribe in the first place: Tree Checker.
If you’ve noticed the new Tree Checker score on your Ancestry tree, you might be curious. Mine showed a 9.1—“Excellent.” That aligns with my belief that my tree is about 90–95% accurate. But let’s be honest: no one has a 100% accurate tree. Without DNA confirmation for every line, there will always be an element of uncertainty. Still, I’m committed to removing the detritus that’s accumulated over years of brick wall chipping, FAN Club research, and lineage society applications.
Back in 1990, I started my tree with 50 people, using a TI-89 cartridge program. By 1995, I was entering data into FamilySearch’s .paf format. When Ancestry came along, I uploaded my work to what’s now the ubiquitous .gedcom. My skills, and my tree, have grown significantly since then. I’ve cleaned up my Swedish, Croatian, French, German, Swiss, and Dutch branches. What remains is my largest line: Great Britain. Before writing my next book, I knew it was time to clean that section.
I regularly back up my Ancestry tree to other programs (Family Tree Maker, Legacy, RootsMagic), all of which offer tree-checking tools. But because Ancestry is my primary research platform, I’ve been hesitant to clean externally and re-sync. So I was hopeful that Tree Checker would finally give me an effective cleanup solution within Ancestry.
Here’s what happened.
Tree Checker: Expectations vs. Reality
When I launched Tree Checker from the dashboard, I was greeted with a gut-punch: 14,000+ possible errors.
The majority were labeled “People with no sources.” I immediately knew what was going on. In Ancestry’s early days, there wasn’t a “web link” option. I got around that by uploading source PDFs to the Gallery or by placing citations in the timeline. Unfortunately, Tree Checker ignores those, unless it’s housed as an official Ancestry “source,” it’s invisible to the system.
But that still left other problem categories:
Possible Duplicates
People with Only Tree Sources
Other Possible Errors
I’ll add here that one of the most helpful “error types” isn’t even under Tree Checker, it’s found under Pro Filters > Family Lines > People Without Relationships. These are individuals floating without connections, often leftovers from attempts to delete a line. I had about 2,000 of these and quickly removed them.
People with Only Tree Sources was next. These were added from others' trees, unsourced. That’s an easy fix, either delete them or attach a hint. Done.
Possible Duplicates looked daunting at nearly 2,000, but the number was misleading. Triplicates and higher were counted separately, and after filtering, I had fewer than 1,000 to review. Some were legitimate merges (e.g., marriage records auto-adding a new spouse). Others were not duplicates at all: families who reused names after a child died, or multiple “Johann” Harbaughs with different middle names. I worked through them in two days.
The Glitches Begin
After carefully resolving every duplicate, I noticed something troubling: they didn’t disappear from the error list. No matter what I tried, refreshing, logging out, rebooting, clearing cache, Tree Checker continued to show errors I had already corrected. I even tried deleting and re-adding a person. No dice.
Still hoping for results, I moved on to “Other Possible Errors” and found myself stunned.
Ancestry itself was causing many of the flagged issues. For instance, if a child was born in 1937 and enumerated in the 1940 census, Tree Checker would flag it as “Resident listed before birth date.” The kicker? That census record was automatically added by Ancestry in the timeline for 1935. To clear the error, I had to delete 1935's entry FOR EVERY ONE born between 1936-1940.
Swedish church records were another problem. Ancestry indexes these by range (e.g., 1723–1728). If a child was born in 1724, Tree Checker flagged the 1723 record as occurring before birth. Completely illogical and a huge waste of my time to clean up!
Some new error flags also made no sense:
“Birth/Death dates span more than 10 years” with only one sourced date. What?
"Significant age difference between spouses" um, 2 years!
“Marriage occurred after spouse’s death” when no death date was even given. See the above screenshot proving the error was false.
And here’s the real kicker: even when I corrected the problems, they remained in the count. Over the next three days, my “error total” would inexplicably rise despite spending hours cleaning.
Note that it says there are 2 possible duplicates but none show.
People with only tree sources shows 1 but none are provided.
Under all possible errors the counter states 201 but there is only 1 error showing and it is not an error when you go to that page.
This reminded me of a long ago problem Ancestry had with what was called "Ghost Hints." You can read my how-to-fix blog about it here. I tried that again but it appears that Ancestry has tightened up security and my fix it no longer worked.
As a genealogist, I dug into the data. I exported the report, analyzed the stats, and discovered something stunning:
75% of the Tree Checker results were false positives. That’s not a helpful tool -that’s noise! Seeing it graphically made me realize I had been sold a product that doesn't work:
To top it off, this also distorts your overall Tree Checker “score.” I now wonder what my real rating would be if the tool actually worked. With the changes that took, my score reached a 9.4.
The Final Straw
I then turned to the “No Sources” filter and began manually fixing issues from A–Be, X, Y, and Z. That’s when I hit the wall. Even attaching suggested Ancestry hints they no longer removed individuals from the list. Not user error, this was a flat-out malfunction.
That’s when I noticed the word Beta scattered throughout Pro Tools. Beta testing, by definition, is the final phase before a product goes public. Users test real-world functionality and provide feedback. But here’s the problem:
Ancestry released an untested tool to the public and then charged for it.
If you charge admission before the dress rehearsal is done, that’s not Beta testing. That’s profiteering.
But that's not all! Ancestry then sent me an email with their data about the changes I made to my tree:
What does 300% more duplicates found even mean?! We know I had no duplicates and most of those that they believed were duplicates were not. 84% fewer issues discovered? Does that mean my tree still has 16% undiscovered issues? If so, how would I ever find them when Pro Tools can't identify them and the counter doesn't work?
Where Do We Go From Here?
I’m not just disappointed, I’m concerned. It’s clear Ancestry recognizes the problem of flawed user trees. But their solution shouldn’t be charging extra for a broken product.
In a recent webinar, the presenter said she came up with the idea of genealogy coaching. That’s interesting, since I’ve offered coaching on my website for over a decade at a fraction of the price. I believe everyone should have access to their heritage, not just those who can afford a luxury tier. I was also appalled to hear that professional genealogists charge tens of thousands of dollars a year. No, just no!
I use Ancestry daily and plan to continue. But I’ve cancelled my Pro Tools subscription.
Next week, I’ll share how I cleaned up my tree without shelling out extra cash.
As a long-time Ancestry.com user, I decided to give their new Pro Tools a spin during the July 4th weekend. With a family member recovering from surgery, I wasn’t traveling, and I had trimmed my client and presentation load to be more available at home. So, for the introductory $7.00 fee, I figured—why not?
Today's blog, and the two that follow, details what happened next: a real-world walkthrough of what Pro Tools offers and whether it’s worth the extra cost above your regular Ancestry subscription.
After payment—seamless, of course, since Ancestry has mastered the art of parting you from your money—I waited around two hours for the tools to appear. No email alert, just a dashboard update with Pro Tools shortcuts quietly waiting for me.
I expected a guide or orientation video. Nope. Clicking “More Pro Tools” brought up the feature list shown below. So let’s walk through each one:
Networks This is basically a built-in FAN Club tracker. You can add people to your tree who aren’t related but interacted with your ancestors—neighbors, witnesses, etc. I wish this existed back when I was wrestling with my Duer brick wall. Back then, I added these people manually and unlinked them to avoid false connections. Networks would have saved a lot of time.
Enhanced Shared Matches The “enhancement” is only one thing: DNA clusters. And only if you've tested through Ancestry. Here's the kicker: MyHeritage offers this for free—even if you didn't test with them but uploaded your DNA there. Ancestry’s version? Sparse and underwhelming. I have no maternal clusters and only 27 paternal ones.
MyHeritage has far more, thanks to their broader global dataset. Winner: MyHeritage.
Smart Filters Sort your tree by name, birth, or death dates. Sounds great—until you realize it only displays the first 10,000 people. My tree has 70,000+ individuals from years of research and surname studies. So... not helpful. Pass.
Charts and Reports You get four types: Descendancy, Ahnentafel, Register, and Family Group, with cutesy “tree” headers (Pine, Birch, Oak, Maple). But each slaps the Ancestry logo on top. Legacy and RootsMagic do it better—and they’re free. Another strike.
Tree Mapper A world map with green highlights where your ancestors lived. Sounds promising, until it confidently tells me my ancestor in Zwol, Overijssel (Netherlands) lived in South Africa. Another resided in Queensland, Jamaica, New York and not in Queensland, Australia where it was flagged. Error after error makes this useless for real research.
Tree Insights This tool tells you surname meanings, top five surnames, oldest people in your tree, and “notable” outliers—like couples who married at 1 year old. (Spoiler: they didn’t.) It clearly can’t interpret “Abt.” dates, and many errors it finds weren’t flagged by the Tree Checker. Insightful? Yes. Reliable? Meh.
This is getting long, so I’ll save the main course—Tree Checker—for the next post. Spoiler: It’s the only reason I tried Pro Tools at all. And it’s a tale worth telling.
They say you can’t judge a book by its cover but in the case of Elizabeth Shown Mills’s latest, Your Stripped Bare Guide to Citing & Using History Sources (2025), the cover is so charming it almost makes me want to sit down and write a source citation. And that’s saying something, coming from someone who usually dreads the task and full disclosure, often cheats by letting AI do it for her.
You might wonder, after decades of writing about citations, what more could ESM possibly have to say? I own all four editions of her past works, Evidence Explained, along with two editions of Professional Genealogy. Those texts are monumental, hefty, encyclopedic guides designed to help family historians create (and yes, crafting a citation is an art) a source reference for every conceivable research situation. But therein lies the problem; they are so thorough they can overwhelm beginners. Too often, they end up gathering dust and making the bookshelf sag, which is a shame because they hold the keys to accurate, credible, and most importantly, findable research.
I’ll admit, I’ve grown a bit lazy since AI became part of my workflow. For my personal research, I often settle for a quick and dirty Chicago-style citation generated by a chatbot. I’ve noticed some of my editors have relaxed their standards, too. Why? Because tracking down the exact template in Evidence Explained can be a time consuming hunt.
Enter Your Stripped Bare Guide. This is the book I didn’t know I’d been waiting for, clear, concise, and portable. At just 138 pages, it’s a featherweight compared to its predecessors, but it’s packed with practical, ready-to-use information. I liken it to The Elements of Style, a distilled, timeless resource that belongs within arm’s reach of every researcher’s desk.
And timeless it is. Consider how much genealogy has changed since 2007, when the first Evidence Explained was published. Back then, FamilySearch was still shipping microfilm via snail mail to local Family History Centers. AI existed only in movie scripts. Blogging was in its infancy. The very first iPhone had just been released. Now, so much is online (though not everything) and our research methods continue to evolve. I had wondered, when ESM retired, who would carry the citation torch into this ever changing landscape. No worries now! Stripped Bare teaches the core principles so we can confidently adapt to whatever new technology comes next.
Pro tip: read the foreword first, it’s a soothing antidote to any citation anxiety. The opening chapter lays out universal guidelines for any source, followed by “Fundamentals of Documentation,” filled with tips and practical recommendations.
One passage made me laugh out loud; ESM notes that the purpose of citations isn’t to help others find our sources. Gasp! I could picture one of my high school English teachers having an apoplexy. After all, isn’t that what we were always taught? Even now, I carry that belief with me. Stripped Bare challenges that notion, and while some “old school” researchers may bristle, I found it refreshing.
I also appreciated the section on citing derivatives. About a decade ago, I found myself in a spirited (and unresolved) debate with another professional genealogist who insisted I was wrong to cite both the original and the derivative. ESM explains my position far more elegantly than I did, which may be why we never reached agreement.
Here’s what I love most, Stripped Bare offers just 14 templates. Yes, that’s the same number found in Evidence Explained, and many of the examples are familiar, but what’s gone is the 555 page sprawl of trying to illustrate every possible source on earth. That level of detail served its purpose once, but it’s no longer necessary for most researchers.
Some might think this is simply a repackaged version of the first three chapters of Evidence Explained. It isn’t. While there’s necessary overlap, after all, the fundamentals don’t change, the material is rewritten in a fresh, approachable way. Most importantly, it keeps evidence analysis front and center, reminding us that citation is not just about formatting, but about thinking critically about our sources.
For intermediate researchers and beyond, I highly recommend Your Stripped Bare Guide to Citing & Using History Sources. It’s available in paperback and eBook from Genealogical.com—and it just might make you want to write your next citation.
And just like that, we’ve reached the end of my Summer of Genealogical Discontent—a season spent digging not into records, but into my own past as a researcher. I set out to share the biggest mistakes I made in my early years of genealogy—not to dwell on regret, but to show how growth happens in real time, and to offer encouragement to those just starting out (or maybe starting over).
Let’s take a look back at what I’ve learned—and unlearned—along the way:
Lesson 1: Trust, But Verify Like many beginners, I started out believing online family trees were gospel. I trusted matches, clicked too quickly, and added generations without verifying. The result? A line that led all the way back to the Norse god Thor. It took me years (and a lot of embarrassment) to clean it up—but it taught me a lesson I never forgot: don't trust a tree you didn’t plant yourself.
Lesson 2: Cousin Trust… or Not It turns out, family stories can be just as misleading as unsourced online trees. I ignored obvious errors in a cousin’s genealogy book because I wanted to believe the family “knew.” But when someone challenged the name of my second great-grandmother—despite multiple official records proving it—I realized again that evidence must always come first.
Lesson 3: To Save or Not to Save? I didn’t always save my records. I thought I’d find them again. That thinking cost me time, energy, and two long drives to a FamilySearch affiliate library when a key will I’d once seen was no longer accessible online. Now I save everything—and back it up—because in genealogy, proof is everything.
Lesson 4: Confidence I lacked confidence early on and let others in the genealogy community make me feel like an outsider. When a DAR member berated me for an “error” (in all caps), I removed the ancestor from my tree. But I was right, and I had the documents to prove it. Over time, I learned to trust my research—and to stand firm when I had the facts.
Lesson 5: The Software Shuffle Tech has been both a blessing and a burden. I’ve tried nearly every genealogy software platform and been burned more than once by syncing issues, glitches, and disappearing records. The lesson? Diversify your tools. Keep your files backed up and your data portable. Nothing lasts forever, including your favorite software.
Lesson 6: Failing to Join an Organization For too long, I went it alone. I didn’t know where to turn, didn’t have the money, and assumed no one would care about my obsession with dead people. I was wrong. Once I joined societies and attended conferences, my skills grew exponentially. Genealogy may start as a solo act, but it thrives in community.
Lesson 7: Listening to the Pros (or Not) When I finally decided to “go pro,” I followed advice that didn’t align with who I was or who I wanted to serve. I was told I had to charge more, take specific courses, and follow a certain path. But that path didn’t fit me—or my clients. Eventually, I stopped listening to people who wanted me to become a different kind of genealogist and started building a business that reflected my values. And I’ve never looked back.
Genealogy has always been about more than names and dates for me. It’s about honesty. Resilience. Perspective. It’s about owning the full story—including the mistakes—and realizing that every misstep is part of the journey.
As I wrap up this summer series, I’m looking forward to shifting gears a bit. I recently attended a genealogy conference in an area I have no experience. September brings another conference, more lessons, and no doubt, more stories.
Because in genealogy—and in life—there’s always another chapter. Next week I'll blog a book review - stay tuned!
Today’s blog might seem to contradict last week’s post about how I regretted not joining genealogical organizations earlier. But hear me out—this is a different kind of lesson.
When I decided to take the leap and become a professional genealogist, I did what many of us do: I turned to the experts. Longtime professionals told me there were a few non-negotiables—complete certain online courses, pursue credentialing, and charge fees that, quite frankly, I knew my clients couldn’t afford.
I listened. I believed them. And honestly? It didn’t sit well with me from the start.
The first issue was the recommended online course. I was on a waitlist, which ended up being a blessing in disguise. I was working a job that had me traveling constantly across the country—there was no realistic way I could log in consistently at the scheduled times. I would’ve failed before I even started.
I also applied for credentials, and… well, that was a wake-up call. (You can read about that experience here.) My clients didn’t care about my professional journey. They didn’t ask about credentials. They didn’t want to know about my course plans or associations. They wanted answers. Period. That experience made me reevaluate what I actually needed to build a meaningful and sustainable business. As an educator, I value credentials to insure that somene is competent in their field and I planned to one day revisit genealogical credentializing (more to come soon!) but that step didn't impact my growing business.
Then came the topic of fees.
I understood the argument from those already well-established in the field. They were charging high rates and worried that my lower fees might undercut the “market.” I get it. I was the Big Lots to their Macy’s.
But charging what they charged didn’t feel right to me. I knew the people I wanted to help—those searching for answers, sometimes quietly and painfully—couldn’t afford boutique pricing. And that mattered more to me.
To this day, I still undercharge. And you know what? I’m okay with that. I’m at peace with that decision. And all those pros who once told me what I had to do? They’ve since retired from genealogy. Their path wasn’t mine.
Maybe they meant well. Or maybe they wanted to keep genealogy as a kind of exclusive club. But that’s not how I see it.
I believe everyone deserves access to their family history—for medical reasons, for breaking cycles, for healing, for honoring those who came before us. I believe in empowering people to understand their story.
That’s why I’ve learned to be who I am, not what others think I should be. It’s my business. I run it my way.
In last week’s post, I mentioned how I wished I’d had a mentor early on. Let me clarify that—I wish I’d had someone who listened to me. Someone who supported who I was and what I valued. Not someone trying to mold me into something else.
If you’re thinking about going pro, here’s my advice: Find someone you connect with. Someone whose values align with yours. Years ago, I turned down the chance to mentor someone in another state. This was pre-Zoom, and I wasn’t sure phone mentoring would be effective. I suggested she find someone local instead. I never heard from her again, and I still wonder if she gave up on genealogy altogether. That thought saddens me.
So if you have the passion and the desire to go pro—don’t let anyone stand in your way. Especially not someone telling you there's only one right path. Because in genealogy, just like in life, the best path is the one that feels right to you.
I’ve had a passion for genealogy for as long as I can remember—I just didn’t know it had a name.
As a child, I was drawn to the family stories my grandmother told and captivated by her scrapbooks and photo albums filled with long-ago faces and forgotten events. The mystery of my paternal side, which no one ever discussed, only deepened my curiosity. As a teenager, I started searching for answers—but not knowing what I was doing, I didn’t get far. College and life pulled me away for a while.
When my first child was born, I eagerly opened the baby book—only to find I couldn’t complete the family tree. I knew my paternal grandparents, but beyond that? Nothing. My dad told me he’d give me a family book I hadn’t known existed—someday. But when that day came, and he passed, the book never made its way to me. My stepmother found it too much trouble to mail.
So I turned to the internet, which was just beginning to bloom, and took a beginner class at a local Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In hindsight, what I really needed back then was a mentor—someone to show me the ropes, answer my endless questions, and guide me along the path. I should have joined a local or national organization. But with a full-time job, kids to raise, elders to care for, a house to run—and no extra money to spare—I didn’t.
Instead, I used every scrap of free time to work on my tree. I shared my excitement with colleagues, though most didn’t understand why I’d spend vacation time at the Family History Library in Salt Lake. Still, when they had family mysteries, they came to me. I happily helped, and they were amazed at what I uncovered.
More requests came in. I never charged a cent—it never occurred to me to think of myself as a professional.
Then one day, a former boss told me, “You know, people would probably pay you to do this.” I was stunned—and, honestly, panicked. I thought he was letting me go and hinting I should start a business in the middle of a recession. He laughed and clarified: “You’re very good at this. You could turn it into something real.”
I set that thought aside. Life was already complicated.
But as the kids grew up and moved out, I finally had more time—and a little more money. I joined a local society and two national organizations. I attended conferences, subscribed to journals, and slowly built my confidence. I chose a name for my business: Genealogy At Heart, because I wanted to focus on what I loved—helping people uncover those sensitive family secrets. With my background in education and counseling, it was a natural fit.
What I didn’t know? That there were resources out there to help me from the start. I hadn’t heard of SCORE, a free business mentoring service. I didn’t know about the Association of Professional Genealogists, which offers tools, advice, and a sense of community. Had I joined an organization earlier—whether a local society or a national group—I would have had a much smoother beginning as a business owner.
Genealogy can feel like a solitary pursuit. We stay up late combing through records, take solo road trips to distant archives, and keep quiet at family gatherings to avoid the eye rolls. But it doesn’t have to be lonely. And it shouldn’t be.
Today, I’m actively involved in several genealogical organizations. They’ve helped me refine my research, consult with experts, and become a better genealogist—not just for clients, but for my own family, too. I no longer rely solely on myself, and I’ve learned that collaboration isn’t a luxury—it’s a strength.
Looking back, I can only imagine how much further I’d be if I’d learned this lesson sooner. But I’m glad I did.
Welcome to another installment in my continuing series on genealogical misadventures! Today’s topic: my long, bumpy road with technology.
I’ve always embraced tech—but it didn’t always embrace me back.
Back in college, I took a programming course in PLC. The professor told us to throw out the textbook and “go with our gut.” Let’s just say... my gut wasn’t fluent in code. I had signed up for the course because my then-boyfriend (now husband) raved about it. Mid semester, I switched to a new instructor—Dr. Birkin, a kind man with a charming British accent who actually used the textbook. I passed the class, but the experience left me scarred. We were still programming with punch cards back then, and one typo could bring the whole system down. I managed to do exactly that once—and earned a full hour of death stares from the engineering students.
So, when software for genealogy came along, I dove in eagerly—because at least I wasn’t programming it myself! But it turns out software has its own kind of drama.
My big misstep? Relying on just one platform.
At first, I uploaded everything—sources, photos, notes—into Ancestry.com. It was easy. It was convenient. It was also incredibly risky.
Because here’s the thing: if Ancestry ever disappears (and nothing digital is forever), so does everything I’ve painstakingly added. Paranoia, in genealogy, can be a healthy survival strategy. And that means backing up your work in multiple places.
When Family Tree Maker (FTM) was integrated with Ancestry in its early years, I jumped onboard. But then the sync stopped working. Ancestry blamed FTM. FTM blamed Ancestry. I spent a year caught in the crossfire, and finally gave up. So did Ancestry—they ditched FTM and partnered with RootsMagic instead.
I gave RootsMagic a try. I liked it—until it came time to update my records. One. At. A. Time. It was tedious, and I let it slide. Eventually, that program stopped cooperating too.
I also dabbled with Legacy Family Tree. I appreciated its features, but the downside? It doesn’t sync with Ancestry. My sources were preserved—but not my photos or documents. Still, it remains part of my backup plan.
Then, about three years ago, Family Tree Maker came back around with an offer. After a helpful chat with their support team, I gave them another shot. The sync worked again—thankfully—just as RootsMagic had failed me.
So, what have I learned from this revolving door of software?
Stay current. Stay flexible. And never trust your entire tree to a single platform.
Test new tools. Keep your programs updated. And most importantly, store your research in more than one place—cloud, external drive, software, even printed backups. Because when one system crashes (and eventually, it will), you’ll have something to fall back on.
If you think you’re immune to tech mishaps, I’ll leave you with this: the only thing more painful than lost records… is knowing you had them, once.
This is a continuing in my series on mistakes I made as a beginning genealogist. If you missed the earlier lessons, you can read about my trust issues with online trees, family lore, and source saving habits here, here, and here.
Let’s talk about confidence—or more accurately, the lack of it.
My first family tree was on paper. In 1983, my husband bought a TI-84 computer and a family tree cartridge. It allowed basic data entry but had one glaring flaw: no printer. And with no real internet access at the time, there was no way to share the tree beyond showing someone the screen.
By 1995, I’d discovered FamilySearch.org and quickly entered my 50 or so known family members into their online tree. Then came RootsWeb, and I uploaded my FamilySearch .paf file there. The tech was improving—and so were my skills—but confidence? That was still lagging behind.
I loved experimenting with new tools, but reliable records online were scarce, local training was hit-or-miss, and no one was talking about things like the Genealogical Proof Standard. Source citations? Not really a thing yet. DNA testing for genealogy didn’t exist. And AI—well, that sounded like science fiction.
In hindsight, I’m grateful the tools rolled out gradually. It allowed my learning to grow alongside the technology, making the whole experience feel manageable, even exciting.
Still, I was the new kid on the block. At local library presentations, I was often the youngest person in the room.
I wish I could say the older attendees embraced my enthusiasm, but... not so much. I was mostly ignored, and at times, subtly reminded that I lacked their decades of experience—which, let’s be honest, wasn’t inaccurate.
By the early 2000s, Ancestry.com had entered the scene, and I converted my old .paf file into a .gedcom and uploaded it. And almost immediately, I ran into resistance.
A DAR woman messaged me—clipped, curt, and in all caps—insisting I had made an error and must correct it IMMEDIATELY.
Embarrassed, I complied. I removed the ancestor in question and replied that my tree had been "corrected."
But about a year later, I revisited that line after new records came online—probate records, in fact. And guess what? My original hunch had been right. So I added the ancestor back.
Not long after, the same woman messaged again, demanding I remove the name. This time, I had proof—and I told her so.
No response. Until a year later, when she messaged me once more, threatening to report me to Ancestry for ignoring her third “polite request.”
This time, I stood my ground. I reminded her that I had previously provided documentation and warned that if she contacted me again, I would be reporting her for harassment.
She didn’t write back.
Now, I’m no longer the youngest in the room. I’m one of the “old genealogists”—and I try hard not to repeat the mistakes made by those who once made me feel small. That’s part of why I’ve written this series: to let beginners know that we’ve all been there.
No one gets everything right. Not at the beginning, not even later. But we get better. We grow through doing, through missteps, through asking questions, and through helping each other.
Confidence in genealogy doesn’t come from having all the answers—it comes from being willing to keep learning. And I hope I never stop.
Today’s lesson is about a bad habit I picked up early on: not saving my source information.
I somehow convinced myself that if I ever needed to revisit a record, I could just find it again.
Umm… no. Just, NO.
I gave a hint about when this habit started back in Lesson 1. Let’s rewind to the “olden days” of genealogy—pre-2017. Back then, FamilySearch.org offered a microfilm lending program. You could request films from their Salt Lake City library, and they’d mail them to your nearest affiliate FamilySearch Center. Not everything was digitized. Actually, very little was.
When I began taking genealogy seriously—beyond hobby level—this was the norm. You went to your local center, filled out a request, waited for the film to arrive (by actual snail mail), then returned during limited hours to view it. If someone else was hogging the one microfilm reader attached to the printer, too bad. You either came back later or stared at the record and hoped you’d remember what it said.
There were no smartphones early on. No screenshots. Sometimes you could print, but not always. So I often didn’t save the record at all.
One example still haunts me.
Back in the early 2000s, I found a will dated 1793. Two of my ancestors—my fourth and fifth great-grandfathers, John and Thomas Duer—had signed it as witnesses for a neighbor. No relationships were noted, of course (because why would records make things easy?). But it was the only document placing both men in the same New Jersey township at the same time.
Years later, when I submitted my DAR application through this line, I used DNA to bolster the case. I wanted to revisit that old will—see if my now-trained eyes could spot something I missed. But I had never saved it. And it still wasn’t viewable from home.
So I made the trek—45 minutes each way—to the nearest affiliate library. I found the film, loaded it, and saved the image to a thumb drive.
Or so I thought.
Back home, I plugged in the drive. Nothing. Nada. Empty.
Cue the stages of genealogical grief: disbelief, denial, rage, regret.
I drove all the way back and did it all over again. This time, I emailed the document to myself, saved it in two places, and mentally kicked myself for not doing it right the first time.
Since then, I’ve changed my approach completely: if I find a record, I save it. Period. Hard drive, cloud storage, email backup—whatever it takes.
And you know what? It’s not paranoia. It’s preparation.
With so many records being pulled offline or locked behind new restrictions, saving your sources isn’t just smart—it’s essential. I’m even considering publishing a companion volume to my family history books, filled with clips of the actual documents I’ve cited: baptisms, marriages, deaths, censuses, probates, land deeds, gravestones, voting rolls, tax lists—you name it.
Because proof matters.
Sure, I’ve included citations in my books. But is that enough anymore? Many of the records I reference are no longer accessible. And barring a legislative miracle, they won’t be available again in my lifetime.
Today, that will is available on Fold3 but who knows if it will remain there. So here’s the takeaway: don’t assume you can find it later. Save it. Label it. Back it up.
Because someday, you’ll need it again—and you’ll be glad you did.
Last week, I blogged about my rookie mistake of trusting online family trees without question. If you missed it, you can catch up here.
This week’s lesson hits even closer to home—literally. Because as much as we want to believe our families always tell it straight, I’ve learned the hard way that even relatives can get the story wrong.
I know, I know. I've heard it too: "Grandma doesn’t lie."
And I’m not saying she—or Grandpa, Aunt Betty, Cousin Lou, or Mom and Dad—is lying. What I am saying is this: just because a family member says it, doesn’t make it so. Memories fade, names blur, and stories get tangled over time. That’s why we verify.
This one was tough for me. I wanted to trust my family. So I ignored what I knew wasn’t accurate for far too long.
I've blogged before about how my father once promised to pass along a genealogical book compiled by a cousin—but after he passed, my stepmother refused to give it to me.
In frustration, I posted a plea for help on a now-defunct genealogy site, accusing my "wicked stepmother" of holding my family's history hostage. To my surprise, a kind woman who had married into the family saw the post and reached out. She had the author's email and offered to contact him on my behalf.
He graciously responded—and sent me a digitized copy of his long out-of-print book. I was ecstatic. So much so that I used his work (which included no sources) as the basis for my paternal line… without question. I didn’t verify a single detail.
As I gained more experience—took classes, read how-to books, and worked with actual records—I knew better. I learned to look for reliable sources, analyze the evidence, and always, always cite my findings so I could trace them back.
But I ignored all of that when it came to the cousin’s book.
Why? Because I believed it had been compiled from other knowledgeable family members. Surely they knew the names, dates, and places.
Except… they didn’t.
Even the entries for my own parents were riddled with errors. My grandfather’s middle name? It was Edwin, not Edward. My mother’s maiden name? Koss, not Kass. My stepmother’s name—wrong in both maiden and first-married forms. I chalked it up to typos or bad handwriting. And when a second edition came out claiming to correct the first, I thought, “Great! All fixed.”
Except they weren’t.
I knew that. But I didn’t want to deal with it. We so badly want to believe our families have it right.
I’m not even sure when the spell broke—when I realized that my sources were stronger than vague memories or passed-down errors. Eventually, I started revising the tree, swapping family folklore for actual evidence.
Then in May, a distant relative messaged me to let me know I’d gotten the name of our second great-grandmother wrong.
Oh really?
You see, I have baptism records, census records from 1870, 1880, and 1900, a marriage certificate, two more censuses (1920 and 1930), a death certificate, an obituary, and a tombstone photo that all name her as Caroline.
But according to my cousin, her name was Catherine, because that’s what some unnamed family member once said.
I’ll be honest—my reply was a little snarky. I just couldn’t wrap my head around someone dismissing a lifetime of documentation because of one undocumented “memory.”
Caroline, by the way, had a nervous breakdown, according to her obituary, and died shortly after. I’ve never been able to determine why—there were no family deaths or financial troubles around that time. Maybe it was a medical issue misdiagnosed as mental illness. Maybe early-onset Alzheimer's, which runs in the family. I asked the cousin if they had more details, but… no.
So I told them, “Maybe she had a nervous breakdown because no one in the family could remember her actual name.”
I haven’t heard from them since. And that’s just fine by me.
Moral of the Story: Always, always, always check your sources. If the evidence points clearly to a conclusion—even if it contradicts a cherished family tale—you owe it to your research (and your ancestors) to accept the truth.
Next week, I’ll confess to another blunder from my early genealogy days—a really dumb trusting practice I’ve since abandoned for good.
The Summer of My Discontent, Lesson 1: Trust, But Verify
Every genealogist has a learning curve. Mine just happened to feel like a full-blown heatwave. And since we’re in the middle of one right now, I thought it was the perfect time to reflect on my early genealogy practices—many of which were, well, a little light on rigor.
In those early days, I stumbled (frequently), chased the wrong ancestors, trusted shaky online trees, and fell for records that weren’t what they seemed. I call this season of trial and error The Summer of My Discontent—a nod to my distant cousin Shakespeare and my own scorching missteps.
This series is an honest look back at the mistakes that taught me the most. I’ll share the traps I fell into, how I dug myself out, and, most importantly, how you can avoid getting burned on your own journey. Whether you’re just starting or already a little singed, I hope you’ll find humor, relief, and a few practical takeaways here.
Let’s turn discontent into discovery.
Lesson One: Don’t Trust, Verify
One of my earliest mistakes? Trusting other people’s research without verifying it.
That’s a bold statement, I know. Does that mean we should never trust anyone’s work? Absolutely not. But we should check it out—verify the source, analyze the findings, and make sure the evidence stands up. Only then can we safely incorporate it.
Back then, I assumed everyone else knew more than I did—so they had to be right. Spoiler: they weren’t. That realization hit me around 2:00 a.m. one Saturday morning in 1996 after I’d wasted eight hours chasing someone else's fantasy line. Lesson learned.
I had just taken my first genealogy class in 1995, held at the local LDS church and led by a familiar face—our neighborhood pizza shop owner from Third Base Pizza (because after third base, you’re home). No, I’m not making that up.
Online research was in its infancy (remember those AOL CD giveaways at Kmart?), and the course focused on using the internet to record research. FamilySearch.org was ahead of the curve. Their online presence was growing, and the church encouraged us to use their software—Personal Ancestral File, or .paf. One enthusiastic presenter claimed he’d found 10,000 relatives using it. I had maybe 50 entered into a TI-84 computer program stored on cassette. I was in awe.
One winter Friday, with the kids in bed, I decided to do some "research." By that, I meant: browse other people’s trees and copy their information into mine. I called it my Insta-Tree—click, match, done.
Unfortunately, no one had emphasized the importance of verifying these matches. So around 10:00 p.m., using dial-up (because no one would call that late anyway), I stumbled upon a promising lead on my husband’s Samuelson line. The tree stretched back way in time. I was thrilled. He kissed me goodnight, and I promised I’d head to bed once I reached the end of the line.
At 2:00 a.m., I reached it.
His distant ancestor, according to the tree, was none other than Thor—yes, the Norse god of thunder, complete with hammer and wife Sif. I stared in disbelief. Maybe it was just a man named Thor? Nope. The tree listed Asgard as his residence. I nearly cried.
Why would someone post that? Maybe they truly believed it. Maybe they were trolling gullible researchers like me. Either way, I realized it would take longer to undo the damage than it did to blindly click "add."
I’m not proud of this—but I left it in my tree until January 2025. For nearly 30 years. Why? It was on my to-do list but never a priority. Plus, it served as a reminder not to trust unverified work. I finally removed it when I wrote my Swedish ancestor book and committed to scrubbing my online tree of anything unproven. I’ve since done the same for my Croatia, France, Germany, and Switzerland branches, and I’ll continue when I begin my Great Britain book this fall.
That night, exhausted, I crawled into bed. My husband stirred and asked if I’d found anything interesting. “Yeah,” I said, “you descend from the god Thor.” He grunted, rolled over, and said, “Nice.”
“No,” I thought. “Not nice at all.”
The next morning, he remembered I’d said something “interesting,” but not what it was. When I reminded him, he laughed—and still insists to this day that he’s a direct descendant of Thor. Second lesson learned: do not share your research with family until you know it’s correct. Because they will only remember the stuff you wish they’d forget.
Next week, I’ll share Lesson Two from my genealogy learning curve. Spoiler: it involves trusting a family member's stories. Stay tuned.
Today, 1 July 2025, is a day of infamy in Indiana as the state legislature quietly enacted legislation restricting public access to birth and stillbirth records for 99 years—effectively sealing documents that genealogists, historians, and adoptees have long relied on to understand family histories and personal origins.
On the surface, this might appear to be just another privacy-minded law. But scratch just a bit beneath—and a troubling pattern begins to emerge. Rep. Porter not only introduced the bill that passed, but he also authored an earlier version in January 2024 that died in committee. That persistence—combined with his background as he purportedly claims to be a Christian—might suggest strong moral conviction. But public records raise a different, more complicated possibility.
In May 2011, the obituary of George Warfield listed Gregory Porter as his son, while also naming stepsons and multiple relatives. In July 2024, S. Carmen Porter’s obituary—Porter’s mother—listed him again, alongside her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Together, these notices don’t just provide names. They hint at relationships that genealogists might recognize as misaligned: inconsistencies in surnames, generational overlaps, and unclear biological links. It's the kind of thing we encounter every day in family research—and often, the kind of thing that becomes clearer when public records are available.
But under HB1148, those very records are sealed.
Here’s the ethical problem: it appears that the person most eager to restrict access to historical birth records may have personal motivations for doing so. He may have been shielding sensitive information not just about constituents—but about himself. That matters, especially when legislative actions have statewide consequences. It's hard not to wonder whether this was about protecting Hoosiers—or protecting his legacy.
As genealogists, we don’t dig into family histories to shame people. We do it to understand them. But when lawmakers close off records that belong to all of us for reasons that appear to benefit only some of us, it’s our job to say: this is not acceptable.
Privacy has its place. But so does accountability. Here are the Indiana legislators who voted Yea for HB1148:
Sen. Alexander, Scott [R]
Sen. Alting, Ronnie J. [R]
Sen. Baldwin, Scott A. [R]
Sen. Bassler, Eric S. [R]
Sen. Becker, Vaneta G. [R]
Sen. Bohacek, Mike [R]
Sen. Bray, Rodric D. [R]
Sen. Brown, Elizabeth "Liz" M. [R]
Sen. Buchanan, Brian [R]
Sen. Buck, James "Jim" R. [R]
Sen. Busch, Justin [R]
Sen. Byrne, Gary [R]
Sen. Carrasco, Cynthia "Cyndi" E. [R]
Sen. Charbonneau, Ed [R]
Sen. Clark, Brett [R]
Sen. Crider, Michael "Mike" R. [R]
Sen. Deery, Spencer R. [R]
Sen. Dernulc, Daniel "Dan" E. [R]
Sen. Donato, Stacey [R]
Sen. Ford, J.D. [D]
Sen. Garten, Chris [R]
Sen. Gaskill, Mike [R]
Sen. Glick, Susan "Sue" C. [R]
Sen. Goode, Greg [R]
Sen. Holdman, Travis [R]
Sen. Hunley, Andrea [D]
Sen. Jackson, La Keisha [D]
Sen. Johnson, Tyler [R]
Sen. Koch, Eric Allan [R]
Sen. Leising, Jean [R]
Sen. Maxwell, Randy [R]
Sen. Mishler, Ryan D. [R]
Sen. Niemeyer, Rick [R]
Sen. Niezgodski, David L. [D]
Sen. Pol Jr., Rodney [D]
Sen. Qaddoura, Fady [D]
Sen. Raatz, Jeff [R]
Sen. Rogers, Linda [R]
Sen. Schmitt, Daryl [R]
Sen. Taylor, Greg [D]
Sen. Tomes, James "Jim" [R]
Sen. Walker, Greg [R]
Sen. Walker, Kyle [R]
Sen. Young, R. Michael "Michael" [R]
Sen. Zay, Andy [R]
Makes you wonder what they're hiding.
When a lawmakers choose to restrict the historical record—one that belongs to all of us—we have to ask why. And when the answer lies in public obituaries and genealogical inconsistencies easily found by anyone willing to look, the motive becomes hard to ignore. What's their next plan? Banning newspaper obituaries, online and published memorials, Findagrave/Billiongraves?
This isn’t about shaming a man for his family’s past. It’s about refusing to let personal discomfort dictate public erasure. Genealogists tell the truth even when it's messy. We believe every family—every person—deserves to know where they came from. We know the damage that sealed records cause, especially to adoptees, descendants of enslaved people, and those separated by law, war, or poverty.
I’m not writing this because I want to expose one man’s secrets. I’m writing it because he’s trying to bury ours.
