Today I found my ancestral homeland. I rented a car in Poitiers and as it turns out, the woman at the Hertz counter was somewhat of a historian. I started the drive to Ferme Acadienne, a place where some French who went to Canada returned and set up a refugee colony. There weren’t any Rangers that came back from the original migration.
After that I drove to a small town called Adriers, which the man at the train station had never heard of. Based on my distant cousin Robert’s work, and whose photo I stole in a prior post, I knew that it was on a road marked D31.
As I finally found it, I met an old lady with a can of pesticide separating for roaches. In my broken French and her non-existent English, I found that the last Ranger had left over a hundred years ago. The wanderlust must be genetic. (it was also the site of a WWII battle)