Genealogy is a puzzle for which you first must locate the pieces. I've long been interested in the development of this country. Considering I had ancestors both in Jamestown, and on the Mayflower, I'm looking at fifteen generations without having to look in another country. All my ancestors arrived in America before 1800. They came over here in tiny boats to an unknown land with limited resources and made the best of it. Some of their descendants are still living in the same counties four hundred years later, while others pushed westward generation after generation, until there was no further west to travel.
I tired of looking back for more and more ancestors, and instead began looking forward, trying to find the descendants of my ancestors, my cousins and fifth cousins and tenth cousins.
I come from a long line of preachers, farmers and millers; some persons of distinction and a few black sheep. There were no idle rich in my line. (I wouldn't mind being the first, but it hasn't happened yet.) Some ancestors are just names with dates, while others come alive through paper trails.
My mother's mother's father kept journals, forty years of almost daily entries describing the weather, daily activities, who he saw that day, and what he bought and how much he paid. Written with home-made ink and in deplorable handwriting with no punctuation. My cousin Gale (bless her!) transcribed them, avidly typing, year after year, this soap opera with family and neighbors, births and deaths, that ended abruptly with a different handwriting stating that he had died. We wanted to know what happened to these people. Fortunately my mother's family is long-lived and there were people still living who could answer our questions.
Dad's family had lots of traditions about their ancestors, most of which I have proven not true. (Sorry, Dad!)