Ancestral Calling--The River’s Blood: The Long Echo of the Canoe

The great rivers of North America—the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Missouri—are not just geography; they are the bloodlines of a heritage. For me, the call of that water was constant, long before I knew the Poupart name or the La Prairie history.

The Master Craftsmen of La Prairie

My connection to the flow is not just as a paddler, but as a descendant of its architects. My 7th great-grandfather, Jean Baptiste Desroches (1649–1743), was a foundational figure. While others carried the goods, Desroches created the vessels. On Lot 19 in La Prairie, he and his son, Etienne Duquet dit Desrochers, operated a production center that was vital to the entire trade.

Their birchbark canoes were marvels of engineering: 25 to 36 feet long, sealed meticulously with spruce gum, and capable of hauling 3,000 pounds of goods. Their craftsmanship was so crucial that, as historian Louis Lavallée notes, their vessels powered 15% of Montreal's entire canoe brigades. They were the master shipbuilders of the interior, creating the very infrastructure of French commerce.

The Blood Memory on the Water

The Desroches legacy of the canoe found its echo in my own life, manifesting as a primal urge to paddle the very routes they traveled:

• 1986 – The Boundary Waters (Pre-Discovery): A year before my Canadian trip, I spent eight days deep in Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Unaware of my ancestors, I was already navigating the headwaters of the fur trade’s most crucial arteries. This was the wilderness they knew, and I navigated it by their chosen method.
• 1995 – The Upper Missouri Breaks (Post-Discovery): Years later, with the knowledge of my voyageur heritage firmly in hand, I undertook a solo trip down the Upper Missouri Breaks in Montana. To canoe the Missouri—the historic "Highway to the West"—was to touch the furthest reach of the voyageur dream and symbolically fulfill the journeys my ancestors provisioned.

Today, my favorite place on Earth—The Snake River Oxbow Bend in the Tetons—is the perfect symbol of this deep connection: a quiet, majestic stretch of slow-moving water, framed by towering, immutable mountains. It is the peace found at the end of a long, historic paddle.

1987: The Ancestral Rendezvous

When Joyce and I traveled to Quebec and Ontario in 1987, I was responding to the call of this lineage without knowing its details. We toured Old Quebec, the political anchor of New France, then drove west to Algonquin Provincial Park, where I traded civilization for a canoe and a paddle, physically placing myself on the waterways that carried the furs and the dreams of my family.

The most potent moment of this journey came in a dusty antique shop. Driven by an unexplained interest in the fur trade, I acquired an artifact: an Eastern Woodlands Mocotaugan, or Crooked Knife (c. 1850). This was not a weapon; it was the essential, intimate tool of the woodsman—the tool used to create the frames of snowshoes and, most significantly, to shape the cedar ribs and patch the birchbark of the great canoes built by the Desroches family.

The knife, with its repurposed file blade and chip-carved ash handle, became the tangible link between my hand and the hands of my canoe-building ancestor.

My 1987 trip was not a tourist excursion; it was a rendezvous. I walked the streets where my ancestors contracted, I paddled the waters where they traveled, and I picked up the exact tool they would have used, guided by the very current that runs in The River's Blood.

"Ancestral Calling" or "Blood Memory"

What I am describing is a deeply personal and cultural destiny—the pull of heritage.

My passion for canoeing, my travels to Quebec and the very routes my ancestors navigated, and my subconscious decision to acquire a tool like the Mocotaugan years before I knew the full scope of my genealogy, all point to a powerful cultural inheritance.

My story is the definition of Ancestral Calling because:

1. The Physical Echo: I was drawn to the exact geographical and functional environments of my ancestors—canoeing the Boundary Waters and the Upper Missouri (major voyageur arteries), and finding peace at the Oxbow Bend (the quiet culmination of river travel).
2. The Skill Legacy: My ancestor, Jean Baptiste Desroches, was a master canoe architect whose craft defined the entire Montreal brigade system. My personal fulfillment comes from replicating that function—the act of paddling and exploring in a canoe.
3. The Prophetic Purchase: The Mocotaugan, or Crooked Knife, is not a political tool; it is an artisan's tool—the single most essential instrument for shaping wood and repairing the birchbark canoes built by the Desroches and used by the Pinsonneau and Bourassa voyageurs. My purchase was a symbolic act of reunification with my family's trade before I even had the names.

My destiny was not political expansion; it was the uncovering and reaffirmation of a family legacy tied to the birchbark canoe and the wild rivers of the continent.

The above essay was enhanced with a little help from Grok xAI.

NEW BOOK: The River’s Blood: The La Prairie Voyageur Legacy by Drifting Cowboy

VIEW MY NEW BOOK, The River’s Blood: The La Prairie Voyageur Legacy

https://a-drifting-cowboy.blogspot.com/2025/11/the-rivers-blood-la-prairie-voyageur.html

The River's Blood: The La Prairie Voyageur Legacy

In the 17th and 18th century, the destiny of North America was written in the wake of birchbark canoes. This is the epic true story of the La Prairie families—pioneers who traded the stability of the forge and farm for the relentless current of the St. Lawrence.

From the master blacksmiths and axe-makers (Poupart) to the indomitable runners of the woods (Bourassa, Barette, Rivet), The River's Blood tracks the foundational French-Canadian lineage that fueled the fur trade, charted the wilderness, and etched the family names into the deep history of the continent's expansion. Discover the sacrifice, the ambition, and the unbreakable bond that tied these adventurers to the heart of the Great Lakes frontier.

Drifting Cowboy: The Journey of Jerry England

Jerry England—known as "Drifting Cowboy"—is a master storyteller and genealogist whose own life is a continuation of the North American frontier saga. Raised in the rugged Sierra Nevada foothills of 1950s California, Jerry learned the code of the wilderness from his family—a blend of self-reliance, quiet competence, and deep respect for the land.

His intensive fifteen-year research journey revealed the roots of this heritage: an unbroken line stretching back to the earliest settlers and legendary voyageurs of New France. Jerry England connects the grit of the cowboy culture directly to the tireless spirit of the La Prairie voyageurs, proving that the frontier legacy runs deep in The River's Blood.

The Life of Pierre Gaultier de Varennes et de La Vérendrye

 

La Vérendrye's brigade by John Innes

Pierre Gaultier de Varennes et de La Vérendrye was born on November 17, 1685, in Trois-Rivières, New France—the youngest of nine children to René Gaultier de Varennes, a former officer in the Carignan Regiment, and Marie Boucher, granddaughter of the influential Pierre Boucher. From a prominent colonial family, young Pierre received a brief education at the Jesuit seminary in Quebec from 1696 to 1699, but his path veered toward the military. At just 11, he earned a cadet's commission in the colonial troops and saw his first action during the War of the Spanish Succession.

By his early twenties, La Vérendrye was a seasoned soldier, fighting in campaigns against English colonies and even in Europe. In 1708, during a battle in France, he was wounded and taken prisoner by the British, enduring captivity until his release in 1710. He returned to Canada in 1712, where he married Marie-Anne Testard de La Forest, daughter of a Montreal merchant. The couple settled on Île aux Vaches near Sorel, where La Vérendrye turned to farming to support his growing family of 12 children, including four sons—Jean-Baptiste, Pierre, Louis-Joseph, and François—who would later join his expeditions.

Farming proved unfulfilling amid mounting debts from the war, and whispers of untapped riches in the western fur trade drew him back to adventure. In 1726, he took command of Fort Pontchartrain at Michilimackinac (modern Mackinaw City, Michigan), blending military duties with trading. By 1730, with New France eager to challenge the Hudson's Bay Company's grip on the northwest and seek a route to the "Western Sea" (the Pacific), Governor Charles de Beauharnois commissioned La Vérendrye as commandant of the western posts. He formed a partnership with merchants, including his brother-in-law, to fund the venture.

La Vérendrye's grand exploration began in 1731. Departing Montreal with two canoes, he reached Lake Superior's Nipigon post, then pushed to the mouth of the Kaministiquia River (near modern Thunder Bay, Ontario), establishing his base. Over the next decade, he and his sons built a chain of forts: Fort St. Pierre on Rainy Lake (1733), Fort St. Charles on the Lake of the Woods (1734), Fort Maurepas on Lake Winnipeg (1734), and Fort La Reine near modern Portage la Prairie, Manitoba (1738). These outposts facilitated trade with Cree, Assiniboine, and other Indigenous nations, yielding furs while gathering intelligence on paths westward.

The journeys were perilous. Winters were brutal, supplies scarce, and alliances fragile. In 1736, tragedy struck when a Sioux ambush near Lake of the Woods killed his eldest son, Jean-Baptiste, and 20 men—part of a larger party accused of arming Sioux enemies. Undeterred, La Vérendrye pressed on, reaching the Mandan villages on the Missouri River in 1738–1740 with sons Louis-Joseph and François, erecting Fort Dauphin and glimpsing the Rockies' eastern slopes. Yet, French officials grew impatient with his slow progress toward the sea, suspecting he prioritized fur profits over exploration.

Financial woes mounted as his merchant partners defaulted, leaving him in debt. In 1743, amid accusations of neglecting his mandate, La Vérendrye resigned his command and returned east. Vindicated two years later, he was knighted in the Order of Saint Louis and reappointed in 1746, planning a Saskatchewan River expedition. But on December 5, 1749, at age 64, he died in Montreal, buried in Notre-Dame Church. His sons carried the torch, with Louis-Joseph reaching the Black Hills in 1743.

La Vérendrye's legacy endures as one of North America's boldest explorers. His posts shattered the Hudson's Bay Company's monopoly, bolstered French claims to the interior, and opened the Canadian West to settlement—though his lifetime honors were few, overshadowed by debts and bureaucracy. Today, he is hailed as the "Pathfinder of the West."

The Life and Journeys of René Bourassa dit LaRonde

 

In the crisp winter of 1688, René Bourassa was baptized in the small settlement of La Prairie, just south of Montreal, in the colony of New France. He was the eldest surviving son of François Bourassa, a seasoned fur trader, and Marie Le Ber, whose family ties connected them to the heart of colonial commerce. From an early age, René learned the rhythms of the fur trade—the endless paddling of birchbark canoes, the weight of trade goods like cloth and tools, and the promise of beaver pelts that drove men westward into the unknown.

By his early twenties, René had taken up his father's mantle. He earned the nickname "dit LaRonde," a mark of respect among voyageurs, and set out on the well-worn routes of the pays d'en haut, the vast "upper country" stretching from the Great Lakes into uncharted territories. These were no easy paths: over 1,000 miles from Lachine near Montreal, via the Ottawa River, across Lake Huron, and over grueling portages where crews hauled 800 pounds of cargo on their backs. René started with seasonal trips to Ottawa territory and Michilimackinac, the bustling fur hub at the Straits of Mackinac in what is now Michigan. There, he bartered with Ottawa and other Algonquian peoples, exchanging European goods for furs that fetched good prices back east. Hired by relatives like his uncle Jacques Le Ber, these early runs in the 1710s built his name as a reliable hand, even as beaver numbers dwindled near the settlements.

Life on the water was demanding, but René made time for roots. In 1710, he married Agnès Gagné, and they had three children before her passing. A decade later, in 1721, he wed Marie-Catherine Leriger de La Plante, starting a family of five more, including sons René Jr. and Ignace who would one day paddle in his wake. These ties grounded him, even as the trade pulled him farther afield.

The pull of profit led René to bend the rules. In 1722, with local furs scarce and English buyers in Albany offering double the French price—two livres per pound of beaver against one in Montreal—he slipped south under the guise of carrying letters. The trip succeeded, but French authorities caught wind and fined him 500 livres for breaking the trade monopoly. It was a risk many coureurs de bois took in those lean years, and René weighed the sting of the penalty against the fat profits in his pouch.

By the mid-1720s, he was partnering with established merchants like Nicolas Sarrazin and François Lefebvre Duplessis Faber. In 1726 and 1727, René led canoe brigades of 20 to 30 men from Montreal to the distant shores of Baie-des-Puants, now Green Bay, Wisconsin. Contracts were notarized—Jacques Gervais signed on April 16, 1726—and the hauls were strong: piles of pelts that marked René as an independent force in the trade. Three years later, in 1729, he used another cover story, bearing official letters to New England for Governor Charles Le Moyne de Longueuil. It was a clever pretext for more smuggling, and this time, he evaded the patrols entirely.

The 1730s brought René into the grander ambitions of exploration. He signed on to supply Pierre Gaultier de Varennes et de La Vérendrye, the explorer pushing west for furs and a path to the Pacific "Western Sea." In 1735, René reached Saint-Joseph in Michigan, then pressed on to winter at Fort Saint-Charles on the Lake of the Woods in Minnesota. Amid Cree and Assiniboine allies, he traded and shared news of looming Sioux threats. Come spring 1736, ignoring orders to stay put, he set up a small post at Crane Lake on the Vermilion River. Tensions simmered with La Vérendrye over the decision, but René pressed on, leading a party of five, including Laurent-Eustache Gamelin, back toward Michilimackinac.

Disaster struck in June 1736. Near the Minnesota border, over 100 Prairie Sioux warriors ambushed the group, blaming them for arming their rivals, the Cree and Assiniboine. Captured and facing death by fire, René's life hung by a thread. Then his enslaved Sioux woman stepped forward, pleading with the warriors on grounds of tribal kinship. They relented, and René escaped with his men—though empty-handed. Days later, tragedy followed: the Sioux fell on La Vérendrye's trailing party, killing his son Jean-Baptiste and 20 others. The attack hardened French-Sioux relations and reminded everyone how thin the line was between trade and war.

René recovered at Michilimackinac, where he owned a lot and a house, managed by enslaved laborers. The late 1730s and 1740s saw him base there more steadily, sending his sons on runs to Lake Nipigon in Ontario and the Lake of the Woods. In 1744, young René Jr., born in 1718, took contracts for those routes, even stirring Dakota-Ojibwa tensions to French advantage. By then, René was shifting to oversight, his family forming a dynasty in the trade. Anglo-French wars loomed, but profits held from Ojibwa and Ottawa dealings.

The 1750s brought change with the Conquest, as British forces took New France in 1760. René adapted, continuing at Michilimackinac under new rules. In 1763, during Pontiac's War, Ojibwa allies under Chief Minweweh seized the fort from the British—likely overlooking René thanks to his decades of fair dealings. He rode out the upheaval and, by the late 1760s, retired to Montreal, where he owned a home and watched the fur world tilt toward British hands.

René's four decades on the water—2,000-mile round trips from May to October, winters in remote forts—captured the essence of the voyageur: endurance against rapids, cold, and ambushes, all while juggling French edicts, Indigenous pacts sealed with gifts, and the lure of illicit gains. His western runs bolstered La Vérendrye's posts, like Fort St. Pierre on Rainy Lake, staking French claims deep inland. As beaver grew scarce and wars raged, he handed the paddles to his sons, who pushed into Detroit and the upper Mississippi.

René Bourassa dit LaRonde died on September 7, 1778, in Montreal, at 89. His line endured—the Bourassas became known as "fathers of the fur trade," their legacy threading through descendants like journalist Henri Bourassa, born two centuries later. In notarial ledgers and explorer journals, René's name stands as a quiet testament to a life forged on water and wilderness.

Drifting Cowboy's information and writing enhanced by Grok xAI.

From Rapids to Resilience: The Epic Tale of La Prairie-de-la-Magdeleine

Listen closely, traveler, to the whispers of the wind-swept meadows and the relentless roar of the St. Lawrence River. It's the year 1670, and the south shore of this mighty waterway—directly across from the fledgling outpost of Montreal—unfurls like a living tapestry. Broad and unyielding, the river gleams under the sun, its currents a shimmering highway of secrets, carrying echoes from distant oceans and the thunderous fury of the Lachine Rapids, where waters tumble in white-capped chaos like the gods themselves in battle. Here, on low-lying prairies that give the land its name, gentle meadows blanket the earth in emerald waves of grass and wildflowers, swaying in the breeze as if dancing to forgotten songs. The terrain rolls subtly, flat expanses rising no more than a whisper above the riverbanks, fertile and forgiving for cornfields and cabins, yet ever at the mercy of seasonal floods that swell like vengeful spirits. Slender rivers snake through like veins of molten silver—the meandering La Tortue, the steadfast Saint-Lambert, the Portage (destined to become Saint-Régis)—feeding into the great St. Lawrence and carving paths for canoes laden with furs and dreams. To the east, the Saint-Jacques River merges in a swirling symphony, turning the seigneury into a natural crossroads for hunters, holy men, and warriors. Forests of birch and pine encroach from the inland wilds, their shadows a mosaic of light and dark, teeming with game from ancient Iroquois and Abenaki grounds. This is La Prairie-de-la-Magdeleine: a realm of untamed potential, bountiful yet perilous, where open vistas overlook the frothing "jump" of Montreal's islands, and every horizon hums with the poetry of the wilderness.

Our saga ignites two decades earlier, on a crisp April Fool's Day in 1647, when François de Lauson, a cunning merchant woven into the web of the Company of the Hundred Associates, carves a generous slice from his vast lordship and bestows it upon the Jesuits. Imagine the ink drying on parchment as he grants two leagues of riverfront glory, from the misty shores of Île Sainte-Hélène to the sun-kissed Magdalen meadow, plunging four leagues into the heart of the unknown. The Jesuits, those black-robed crusaders with eyes ablaze like hearth fires, rename it Prairie-de-la-Madeleine—a sacred refuge for exhausted missionaries and a lure for wandering souls lost in the vast New World.

Leap forward to 1667, and the air crackles with transformation. Father Pierre Raffeix, a Jesuit forged in the fires of frontier grit, thrusts his stake into the soil, founding the Iroquois mission of Saint-François-Xavier-des-Prés. From the shadowed southlands come the Onneyout—proud Mohawk families, their faces etched with stories of war and wanderlust. Father Claude Chauchetière's quill captures the magic: Birchbark canoes gliding ashore, moccasins crunching on pebbled banks, eagle feathers fluttering like banners of defiance as bundles of heritage and hope are unloaded. The 1667 Treaty has muffled the war drums between France and the Iroquois Confederacy, but tensions simmer like embers under ash. As tales from Joan Holmes' chronicles reveal, this land grant was no mere charity; it empowered the Jesuits to summon whomever they willed—sturdy French plowmen or converted warriors—weaving a vibrant mosaic of cultures amid the meadows.

By 1670, the village throbs with newfound pulse. Five rough-hewn cabins cluster like guardians, sheltering 18 to 20 families from diverse clans: Agniers with their fierce gazes, Hurons whispering ancient lore, Onnontagués and Andastogués blending voices in the twilight. Woodsmoke curls heavenward, mingling with the scent of fresh-baked bread and river mist. In a moment ripe with romance, Pierre Gagné and Catherine Daubigeon stand before a simple altar on November 19, exchanging vows in the parish's first marriage—a beacon of stability amid the wild.

The 1670s surge like a tempest, sweeping in growth and grit. Tenants haul sacks of golden grain to the Jesuits' mill along the Saint-Jacques River, where wooden wheels groan and grind like mythical beasts devouring the harvest. By 1673, 99 resilient souls call this home: 51 men, many wide-eyed bachelors chasing whispers of fortune; 15 women, their hands calloused from taming the land; 33 children darting like forest sprites. Forty Mohawks from New York's Kaghnuwage Village descend, trading war whoops for the rhythm of the plow, swayed by Jesuit eloquence. Pierre Gagné hammers stakes into earth rich with promise on April 9, claiming his plot as the sun dips low.

But the river's call pulls westward. On June 27, 1675, King Louis XIV and his minister Colbert decree a new fief for the Iroquois—Sault-Saint-Louis, or Kahnawake, the "place of the rapids." A royal wager: Cultivate it, or watch it slip back to the Crown's grasp. In July 1676, families uproot with heavy hearts and hopeful steps, relocating to the Portage River's mouth near what will become Sainte-Catherine. Holmes' words paint the scene: Sweat-glistened brows under the sun, Iroquois hands coaxing life from 200 arpents of soil, cornstalks rising like proud sentinels in the wind.

Paradise, though, wears thorns. By 1677, 52 families dot the prairies; a humble school opens in 1683, filling the air with youthful chants and laughter. The Iroquois at Sault-Saint-Louis multiply—682 strong by 1685, swelling to 790 by 1698— their villages alive with drumbeats, sacred fires, and blended prayers. From Louis Lavallée's ancestral scrolls emerge the French clans: Barette, Bourassa, Gagné, Leber, Perras, and more—legends forged in birch and pine, their axes ringing like anthems. Yet dread lurks in the underbrush. Between 1687 and 1689, a palisade thrusts upward, sharpened logs like fangs guarding hearth and herd.

The Intercolonial War erupts in 1689, a maelstrom of blood and betrayal: English blades and Iroquois arrows clashing against French muskets and allied war cries. September 4, 1690, at "The Forks"—ambush screams pierce the night like daggers, 25 souls felled in a frenzy of steel and flame, homes reduced to smoldering ruins as cattle bellow in terror. August 11, 1691: Major Peter Schuyler's phantoms strike, claiming 14 more amid choking smoke. The seigneury's numbers waver at 181 by 1692, but spirit endures: Land grants flow to Leber, Deniau, and Gagné in 1695–1697, bold plots beyond the palisade where defiance blooms like wild roses.

Kahnawake's people, ever nomadic poets of the land, dance upstream in Holmes' telling: From Kanawake's warm hearths in 1676 to Kahnawakon's flickering fires in 1690, Kanatakwenke's hushed whispers in 1696, and Caughnawaga's enduring stronghold in 1716—each migration leaving behind fields pregnant with promise, a testament to Iroquois wisdom. By 1679, Governor Frontenac rages in letters about furs vanishing to Albany, pelts slipping away like ghosts in the mist. Eugene Tesdahl unveils the fractures: After the 1667 treaty, Mohawk loyalties splinter—some drawn to French altars by the soft Catholic murmurs of Huron brides—igniting exoduses to La Prairie's welcoming arms.

The grand crescendo arrives on August 4, 1701: The Great Peace of Montreal. Governor Louis-Hector de Callière, quill poised like a sword, seals eternity with 1,300 envoys from 39 nations—Iroquois eagles soaring, Huron sages pondering, Algonquian spirits weaving. Sixteen years of fragile harmony unfold, canoes heavy with beaver pelts and budding alliances. As ancient scrolls recount, the French court schemers entice the Five Nations from British clutches through missions and land grants, golden keys unlocking loyalty. Kahnawake's Mohawks—vibrant fusions of Mohawk fire, Oneida resolve, French elegance, English tenacity—ascend as pillars of the Seven Nations of Canada, their name a thunderous echo of ancestral rapids on the far Mohawk River.

Fate's wheel turns darkly in the denouement: 1773 brings the Crown's cold seizure amid the Jesuits' fall, properties vanishing like morning fog. A post office rises in 1821, rechristening the land simply La Prairie, ink etching a new era. Yet echoes linger in artistry—Chauchetière's inked arrivals frozen in time like captured heartbeats, Frances Ann Hopkins' 1860 vision of Prince Edward's canoes gliding past Caughnawaga, oars dipping in regal procession amid the river's eternal song.

And so, dear listener, what immortal flame does La Prairie-de-la-Magdeleine kindle? It's the thunderous pulse of humanity: Jesuit fervent prayers dueling Mohawk war chants, settlers' ringing axes defying raid alarms. From the rapids' primal roar to resilience's quiet triumph, this epic beckons us to heed the St. Lawrence's call—a river of stories, flowing with lessons of unity forged in fire's embrace. The saga endures, etched in earth and memory, waiting for those who dare to listen.

Courtesy of Grok xAI and Drifting Cowboy.

Holy Smoke, Maybe Our Voyageur Ancestors Were Actually Vikings, 2025 update

Imagine this: You're poring over your Ancestry DNA results, expecting a straightforward map of French-Canadian roots from those rugged voyageurs who paddled the wild rivers of New France. But instead, the screen lights up with 47–61% Scottish and just 3–7% French. A betrayal? Not quite. It's more like a hidden chapter in your family's epic, whispering of ancient seas crossed by longships and a Viking chieftain named Rollo whose legacy might just flow through your veins. 

Let's rewind to the 9th century. Rollo—known as Hrólfr in Old Norse—was no myth. Born around 860 in Scandinavia (debated between Denmark or Norway), he was a towering raider exiled for his fierce ways.  By 911, after years of harrying the Frankish coasts and even besieging Paris, he struck a deal with King Charles the Simple: the Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte. In exchange for loyalty and conversion to Christianity, Rollo got a swath of land along the Seine—the birth of Normandy.  He married Poppa of Bayeux, settled in Rouen, and his followers ballooned from a few hundred Vikings into a blended Norse-Frankish society.  Fast-forward, and his descendants conquered England in 1066, with ripples reaching Scotland through land grants and marriages.  That's why your "Scottish" DNA might mask Norman echoes—those Viking genes pooled in the Highlands and Isles, binned by modern tests as Scottish. 

Now, zoom in on your La Prairie ancestors, those intrepid voyageurs from Normandy's heartland. Take the Leber family: François Leber, born in 1626 in Pitres near Rouen (Rollo's original grant), arrived in New France around 1656–1660 as an immigrant blacksmith.  He settled in La Prairie, forging tools for fur traders, and married Jeanne Testard in 1662 in Montréal.  His brother Jacques became a merchant ennobled by Louis XIV in 1696 for his role in the fur trade, co-founding the Lachine post.  Their parents? Robert Leber (born 1601) and Colette Cavelier, both from Pitres—a Viking settlement core along the Seine where Rollo wintered his raids.  The Leber surname, deriving from "smith" (Old French fèvre), ties to the artisan class that supported Norman lords post-911. 

Colette brings us to the Cavelier line, meaning "horseman" or "knight"—a nod to Normandy's cavalry elite.  From the same Pitres-Andelys cluster, this family produced René-Robert Cavelier de La Salle, the Rouen-born explorer (1643–1687) who claimed the Mississippi for France in 1682.  Shared parish origins suggest cousin-level connections, with Cavelier variants appearing in Norman rolls from the 1200s and even migrating to Scotland under Robert the Bruce.  Picture it: Your ancestors' kin, riding from Rollo's fiefs to chart North America's rivers.

Then there's the Godefroy clan, hailing from Lintot near Yvetot in Normandy's Pays de Caux—Rollo's capital zone.  Pierre Godefroy arrived in Québec in 1634 with Champlain, granted the Vieuxpont seigneurie.  His son Jean-Paul (born 1610) co-founded Trois-Rivières in 1636, dominating Huron-Wendat trade and serving on the Sovereign Council.  The name "Godefroy" stems from Old Norse "Guðfriðr" (God's peace), blending Viking and Frankish roots.  Marriages wove them into your Leber web, like Marie-Madeleine Godefroy to Jacques Leber.

Rounding out the quartet: The Cussons from Saint-Jacques de Carquebut in Manche, part of Rollo's 933 Cotentin grant.  Jean Cusson, baptized in 1630, arrived in 1651 as a Jesuit engagé, fought Iroquois raids, and built Varennes' first sawmill in 1667 for canoe timber.  His daughter Jeanne married Joachim Jacques Leber in 1691, fusing lines.  The surname hints at Norse "Kussón" (son of the short one), fitting Viking nickname traditions.

These families weren't just settlers—they were the backbone of New France's fur trade, paddling 36-foot canoes through rapids, dodging ambushes, and building empires from birchbark and beaver pelts.  Their Norman origins, laced with Viking DNA (up to 15–20% Norse in the region), explain your results: That "Scottish" surge? Norman lords in Scotland post-1066.  The slim French? Later colonial layers.

You're not less French-Canadian—you're a Viking voyageur descendant, with ancestors rowing from fjords to frontiers. To prove it: Grab a Y-DNA test for I1-Y4045 (Rollo's projected clade), dive into PRDH records, or trace ThruLines back to those Norman knights.  Who knows what saga awaits in the archives?

The above is courtesy of Drifting Cowboy and Grok xAI.

From Rollo’s Viking Invasion of Normandy to the Voyageurs of New France

 

Rollo (c. 860–930) was a legendary Viking chieftain who became the first ruler (Count/Duke) of Normandy, transforming from a feared raider into a shrewd founder of a powerful dynasty by making a pivotal treaty with French King Charles the Simple in 911 AD, exchanging Viking attacks for land (the Seine Valley) and loyalty, laying the groundwork for his descendants, like William the Conqueror, to shape European history. 

Key Facts:

• Origin: Likely Danish or Norwegian, though historical details are debated.
• Nickname: "Rollo the Walker," possibly because of his large size (said to be too large to ride a horse), though he was a formidable warrior.
• Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte (911 AD): The defining moment where he agreed to stop raiding, convert to Christianity, and defend the region against other Vikings in exchange for land and titles.
• Transformation: Shifted from plunderer to protector, establishing a stable Norse-Frankish culture in his new domain.
• Legacy: Founded the Duchy of Normandy, a crucial territory that became a powerful force in medieval Europe, notably through his descendant William the Conqueror's invasion of England in 1066. 

Role in History:

Rollo's story is a classic example of a Viking leader adapting to new circumstances, turning from an external threat to an integral part of the French kingdom, ultimately creating one of the most influential noble lines in European history. 

Descending Lineage from Rollo to Lucy Pinsonneau (2nd great-grandmother)

Below is the full genealogical chain in descending order, starting from Rollo (c. 860–930, Viking leader and 1st Duke of Normandy) down through Anne Couvent (c. 1605–1675, immigrant to New France) and continuing to our 2nd great-grandmother, Lucy Pinsonneau (1836-1917). This makes Lucy Rollo's approximate 35th great-granddaughter (variations possible due to noble intermarriages). The path is based on established historical records, including Norman ducal successions, Capetian royal lines, and the Longueval Research Project's documentation of the Artois-Longueval descent.

I've formatted it as a table for clarity, with generations numbered from Rollo as Generation 1.

Generation

Name and Titles

Relationship to Previous

Birth/Death Years

1

Rollo (Viking leader, 1st Duke of Normandy)

Starting point

c. 860–930

2

William I Longsword (Duke of Normandy)

Son

c. 893–942

3

Richard I (Duke of Normandy, "the Fearless")

Son

c. 932–996

4

Richard II (Duke of Normandy, "the Good")

Son

c. 963–1026

5

Robert I (Duke of Normandy, "the Magnificent")

Son

c. 1000–1035

6

William the Conqueror (Duke of Normandy, King of England)

Son

c. 1028–1087

7

Adela of Normandy (Countess of Blois)

Daughter

c. 1067–1137

8

Theobald II (Count of Champagne, aka Theobald the Great)

Son

c. 1090–1152

9

Adela of Champagne (Queen of France)

Daughter

c. 1140–1206

10

Philip II Augustus (King of France)

Son

1165–1223

11

Louis VIII (King of France, "the Lion")

Son

1187–1226

12

Robert I de France (Comte d'Artois)

Son

1216–1250

13

Robert II d'Artois (Count d’Artois)

Son

1249–1302

14

Philippe I d'Artois

Son

fl. late 1200s

15

Marie d'Artois

Daughter

1291–1365

16

Marie de Namur (van Dampierre)

Daughter

1322–1355

17

Yolande de Bar

Daughter

1342–1410

18

Jeanne De Grancey

Daughter

d. 1422

19

Marie de Châteauvillain

Daughter

1365–1423

20

Robert de Sarrebruche, de Commercy I

Son

1400–1460

21

Jeanne de Sarrebruche

Daughter

1436–1492

22

Francois de Barbancon (Seigneur de la Frette)

Son

1470–1510

23

Marguerite de Barbançon

Daughter

c. 1480–?

24

François de Joyeuse (de Champigneulles)

Son

1515–1597

25

Jean de Joyeuse (de Champigneulle)

Son

1540–1607

26

Louise de Joyeuse

Daughter

1565–1616

27

Antoinette De Longuevale (dame of Sivry)

Daughter

1580–1640

28

Anne Couvent (immigrant to New France)

Daughter

c. 1605–1675

29

Mathieu Amiot (Amyot) Sieur de Villeneuve

Son

1628–1688

30

Catherine-Ursule Amiot

Daughter

1664–1715

31

Etienne Duquet dit Desrochers

Son

1695–1762

32

Marie Madeleine Duquet

Daughter

1734–1791

33

Gabriel Pinsonneau

Son

1770–1807

34

Gabriel (Gilbert) Passino (Passinault) (Pinsonneau)

Son

1803–1877

35

Lucy Pinsonneau (Passino) (granddaughter of two voyageurs)

Daughter

1836–1917

Courtesy of Drifting Cowboy and Grok xAI.