My Irish (nee Wales) forefathers came to the fly infested bog country of New Brunswick, Canada with an 's' branded on the end of our name for sheep stealing from wealthy landlords installed by the evil English and their murderous army. They came to Saint John and were promptly placed in quarantine on Partridge Island until deemed fit to be granted a parcel of land and pay taxes on said mire to the Crown. In the British Empire, one does not own land - miss your rent and you are gone. Just like in the old country.

They toiled in the sandy soil and peat for many decades, supplementing the meager crops with wild game and fish and what could be earned from lumbering King's Arrow pine and saw wood. Then, a twist of fate led Gramps and Gramma to Moncton. Tis a family secret which I have shared but with only one cousin after I became Chieftan upon the death of my uncle Charles Thomas. He shall be next, by my word, as the eldest is unworthy.

My other forefathers came from Normandy, France. LeBlanc and nee Melonson. Another family secret about why Mémère and Pépère landed in Moncton is well known but never explicitly discussed. Essentially, Pépère ran away from the seminary three times. The last time, he sought refuge in a good place and his mémère refused to release him to his parents so he landed in Moncton with other family. He, a Master Baker, as trained in the seminary, and his wife "Nellie" did well operating their small store for many years.

So, here I sit. Freeze my ass in winter and roast my nuts in summer. Still, it's better than sheep stealing to survive.