It’s amazing, if you think of it all. A ship which looks dangerous and highly unsuitable for a Transatlantic voyage made it to Plymouth, Massachusetts in 1620 after a voyage which took place from September to November.

About half of the passengers died before making landfall, and even more passed from sickness and exposure during their first winter, that being 1620-1621.

For John Turner and two sons, the elder listed as a merchant, the dream of the “Saints,” or church of England separatists known as “Pilgrims, the New World was no haven. It just killed them.

One source said they died in Connecticut. Another source challenges that  with records of burial in Massachusetts.

Turner’s third child, Elizabeth, arrived later on another vessel. Whether she had heard the tragic news before leaving (most likely from Ireland), I can’t say. I do know that she survived to marry and have children, and that today, Turner’s surname shows up often in my family tree. I, along with about 80 million Americans, are surviving descendants of the Mayflower passengers.

I found this on Ancestry before it had much competition, and it shocked me that the Mayflower appeared. I was impressed. Proud.

As it happens, John Turner had fled the oppression of England’s strict religious politics, and spent time in the Netherlands. Whether he had known someone who was already there or had family, I can’t say. But nevertheless, Belgian and Swedish DNA showed up in my sample and its analysis.

These were surprises I have taken pride in. If we ignore our heritage, especially if it’s a diverse sample, then how can we be open to learning new and cool things? The family of humankind is not quite what I thought it was.

The clue for John Turner was revealed on my maternal side and went to an Irene Turner, then way back to Elizabeth, and her parents. I really don’t know much about them. That’s where their trail dries up.

Except…clues went back farther. More ancestors; English, Welsh, Scottish and Irish. And that’s just on my mother’s side.

I had a difficult time on the paternal search, but a two year break brought me back to find so many of the frustrating blanks filled in. And what a horror story that told. My grandfather’s middle name traced back to Greece and meant “Son of the Lion” while “The Lion” was given to me. I hated my name until I found out what it meant.

But there’s no Greek DNA in my family. It’s just what I’ve said, 65 percent English, 7 percent Irish, about 9 percent Scottish and the rest is Welsh, Belgian-Netherlands, and Swedish.

I wonder how my ancestors survived so many years in the harsh wilderness and dangerous environments of the first towns and cities. I can only just picture it, and I don’t see roses and tulips. I see fevers and disease, persecution, harsh, deadly weather, war and poverty.

Crops failed. Native Americans were friendly, then turned enemies, then were victims of genocide. Some brave new start, huh?

Having Daniel Boone show up as my 6th great uncle was astonishing. I researched and found that he was better than movies and a Fess Parker TV series made him out to be. He served his new country in the War for Independence, served two terms in Congress, went on epic long hunts, and cunningly tracked natives who had kidnapped his daughter and her friend. He stalked patiently, never giving away his position. When they stopped to eat, he killed them and returned home with both girls safely and in one piece each.

There are so many stories out there of the descendants of the Mayflower passengers that I look back and wonder, in total awe, how they did so many impossible things to get us all here.

But I also wonder if this is the end, if the dream is coming to a nightmare ending after so much has happened.

Here’s to the Children of the Mayflower, may our generation recover and save this country from itself. Peace, and long life.