The Summer of My Genealogical Discontent, Lesson 8: What I’ve Learned (and Unlearned)

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!

Genealogists & Family Historians – This Isn’t Politics. It’s a Paper Trail

I typically don’t blog twice in a week but I received a reply to an email I had sent with the concern I raised about the quiet disappearance of historical records from several U.S. government websites. These weren’t obscure documents—these were public records I had accessed online before, copied, and cited. I even included the original URL and step-by-step directions. But today? “No such record exists,” I was told—unless, of course, I want to pay a fee and maybe someone at the agency will “research” it for me.

My library contact passed along to colleagues my email.

The reply? “She’s just being political.”

No. I’m being factual.

Here’s what’s happening, and it deserves attention:

  • Government agencies are quietly removing access to records once available online.
  • Researchers are being told those records never existed—even when we have the receipts.
  • In some cases, agencies are offering to retrieve them for a price. Same record different paywall.
  • When we raise concerns, we’re dismissed as overreacting or “politicizing” the issue.

This is not a partisan problem. It’s a public trust problem. If you don’t think this affects you, try sourcing a vital record for a family history project or accessing a land claim file for historical research. You might find a broken link—or worse, a dead end with a price tag.

If you think I’m exaggerating, feel free to test it yourself. If you’d like to email me, I’ll be happy to furnish the documents I accessed in the past—along with the original URLs. Try retrieving them now. See what you find.

Spoiler: It won’t be what it used to be.

This isn’t about politics. And if researchers stay silent, it’s only going to get worse. It’s about the deliberate erosion of public access, the rewriting of digital history, and the arrogance of institutions that think no one will notice.

Well, I noticed.

And I’ll keep noticing.

Because someone has to.