Ancestry Roots in Your Tree of Life
How can finding your roots in your family tree bring you life?
This is something I pondered as a child and continued to learn, step by step, until the day I realized I had been speaking with my ancestors my entire life. They were not only real people who once walked this Earth—living mortal lives and carving paths that prepared the way for mine—but they are also, in my understanding, still very real in spirit. Our ancestors continue to guide, teach, and influence us as we now inhabit the same Earth they once walked.
A small glimpse into my past:
At a very young age, I was taught how to collect names and stories to enter into a family history database. This began long before the internet existed. We worked with microfilm. On Saturdays, I went with my father to the public library to search through newspapers, magazines, and archived documents for pieces of family history. There was no cloud indexing system—just reels of film, patience, and persistence.
On special occasions—when we could quietly slip away from my mother’s disapproval—my father, his mother Marion (my grandmother), and I would drive from Duluth toward the White Earth Reservation. My father brought along a tape recorder to capture my Great-Uncle Pitchey’s stories: memories of his childhood and reflections on our Native American roots. After visiting him, we would continue on to see my great-grandmother, Emily—Pitchey’s and my grandmother’s mother.
I remember walking into her trailer home. It always smelled warm and comforting—fresh bread or cookies baked just before we arrived. She would give me something to snack on while the adults talked and recorded stories. As a child, it felt like a long day of being seen but not heard, waiting while conversations unfolded around me.
Now I understand how valuable those moments were.
Preserving those stories was not just about nostalgia. It was about roots.
Our roots connect us to history, culture, diversity, and belonging. They remind us of the old ways—how to live in relationship with the land, how to use what Mother Earth provides, how our ancestors survived and adapted. Knowing where we come from gives us context. It reduces the internal questioning of “Who am I?” because we can see the threads that shaped us.
I often think about trees.
When a sapling grows isolated from others, it often grows quickly in an effort to keep up with the surrounding environment and seasonal changes. But rapid growth can mean weaker roots. The trunk and crown may not develop as fully or as steadily as they would if the tree were growing in a forest, supported by others. A tree that grows too fast and alone can become more susceptible to disease and may not live as long as those growing together in a network.
We are not so different.
When we lack knowledge of where we come from—when we feel disconnected from our lineage—it can create uncertainty and loneliness. Without that sense of rootedness, we may become more vulnerable to stress in the mind and body. There is something stabilizing about understanding your place in a larger story.
For me, discovering my ancestry became more than collecting names on a chart. It became a living relationship—an awareness that I am part of a continuum.
My hope is to help guide others in exploring their own family trees—not just for information, but for healing. In learning your roots, you may find strength, protection, perspective, and guidance. You may discover patterns that need tending, stories that need honoring, and gifts that were waiting to be reclaimed.
And above all, you may find love—the kind that stretches across generations and reminds you that you have never truly been alone.
Pictured from left to right: my grandmother, Marion Dorothea Sealand; her mother, my great grandmother, Emily Amilia LaFriniere; her bother, my great uncle Pitchey’s headstone; and lastly their mother, my second great grandmother who lived on the White Earth Nation Reservation.
