🕊 From St. Timothée to St. Landry: Tracing the Echoes of My Family’s Journey
Welcome to My Journey Through the Past
There’s something sacred in the act of remembrance—a quiet honoring of footsteps that pressed into soil long before ours. As I trace the threads of my heritage, I find myself standing in the shadows of individuals who carried hope, grief, and the resilience of generations.
My journey begins with Virsel Newberry, my father, son of Edward and Minnie Newberry, and grandson of Loretaus John Franklin Newberry—a name that rolls off the tongue like a hymn. Loretaus had a daughter, Lula, who married Frank LaFleur, my great-aunt’s husband and a man whose lineage runs deep into the heartlands of both Canada and Louisiana.
The LaFleur name carries echoes of Pierre LaFleur, born around 1838 in the St. Timothée region of Québec. With his first wife Catherine Dagenais, Pierre built a life in Ontario before sorrow carved its mark—Catherine passed in 1873. He remarried Odile Sicard, and together they journeyed with their children to Michigan, choosing Alcona Township as the new canvas for their legacy. Among their children was Frank LaFleur, who would tie the LaFleur line to my own through his marriage to Lula.
But this story deepens—it stretches southward, back in time, to the bayous of Louisiana. There, in St. Landry Parish, lived Jean Baptiste LaFleur, born June 12, 1819, and laid to rest in 1891. His life in Ville Platte was marked by devotion and family—he married Domilise Belaire Fontenot in 1838 and fathered many children, including Joseph Dorsin LaFleur, anchoring a branch of the family that remained rooted in Louisiana soil.
Could Frank, son of Pierre and Odile, carry ancestral threads that trace back to the Louisiana LaFleurs? The shared name and overlapping stories whisper a connection—a puzzle still unfolding. While name repetitions and migrations blur some lines, each discovery sharpens the portrait of those who came before. I feel the answer whispering through baptismal records, marriages, and migrations—a tapestry yet to be fully unraveled, but unmistakably real.
I write this not only to connect dots, but to breathe life into the names. To me, genealogy isn’t just lineage—it’s a living altar. It’s the stories carried by those who dared to cross borders and bury their heartbreaks beneath unfamiliar stars. Their choices, their losses, their love—they flow through me.
And so I’ll continue. Searching, stitching, listening. Because finishing this puzzle is about more than answers—it’s about becoming the echo.
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