When Each Research Question’s “Conclusion” became “My Current Understanding”
In a family history writers group meeting, we discussed when—or whether—we can definitely state a conclusion to our research questions. We agreed that in simple math, 1+1=2. Yet, considering evidence that shapes our family stories and histories, we may encounter situations when 1+1=3. Or some other answer.
Our conversation prompted me to change each of my research question’s “Conclusion” to “My Current Understanding.” I also identified some circumstances that may prompt us to be less sure about what we’ve found while researching our family histories:
We may not have enough facts and pieces of information
In the 1860 US Census, I caught one glimpse of a three-year-old child in the household of my great-great-grandfather. The child’s surname was the same as most others in the household. Unfortunately, that census did not list an individual’s relationship to the head of the household. I found nothing to document the child’s tie to any kinfolk. A note about a family story that identifying his mother made little sense to me given additional information I’d found about her.
“My Current (2026) Understanding” includes some possible parents, along with the caveat, “I’m not convinced I’ve identified either the father or mother of this child.”
Our assumptions might be wrong
When I found a 13 May 1864 newspaper notice for an Arthur P__ to pick up his mail at the local post office, I added the date, location, and citation to my relative’s timeline.
Then I reconsidered my conclusion. In truth, the most I can assume is that someone had mailed a letter to my family member Arthur P__ (or to another man with the same name), and that the sender had thought an Arthur P__ was, or would be, at that location about that date.
I added a note on my relative’s timeline that he might have been at that location on the date of the newspaper notice and rewrote, “My Current (2026) Understanding” to include:
“The same newspaper notice listed the names of three of Arthur’s in-laws, so it’s quite probable the unclaimed letter was addressed to our Arthur P__. However, there were other members of the community with the same surname as Arthur, but who were not known to be related. Even if I had tied the newspaper notice to our Arthur, he had not claimed the mail at that time. Therefore, the newspaper’s notice neither proved nor disproved Arthur was in the area or that he was alive or dead on that date.”
The facts and information may be incomplete, incorrect, illegible, illogical, or conflicting
I tackled the research question: “When was Lucretia born?” because I could not find a birth or baptismal record for her. Yet, each record I found and could tie to her provided a different “answer” to my question.
- Using information listed on four censuses and three marriage documents, I calculated seven ranges of possible birthdates, with the earliest date in 1860 and the latest in 1866.
- I threw out the reported age on one marriage notice from which I calculated she was born in 1872. That would have been impossible because along with her mother and younger sister, the 1870 census listed her name and age (7 years).
- Lucretia’s death certificate listed her birthdate as 18 August 1865.
- Her obituary and gravestone listed her birthdate as 27 September 1866.
I revised “My Current (2026) Understanding” to read: “Lucretia was probably born between ~1860 and 27 September 1866.”
We don’t understand the purpose of the record or the information recorded
I thought it odd that the 1841 England Census listed a set of my ancestors as the same age, although he was probably 4 years older than she. The instructions to enumerators read: “Write the age of every person under 15 years of age as it is stated to you. For persons aged 15 years and upwards, write the lowest of the term of 5 years within which the age is. Thus—for Persons aged 15 years and under 20 write 15; 20 years and under 25 write 20. . .and so on up to the greatest ages.”[1] Therefore, for the husband and wife, the census reflected their age ranges, and I made peace with what I’d thought were discrepancies.
We don’t understand what we have because we don’t read the entire record
When looking for Leota’s birthday, I found her age listed as “18 years” on her second marriage record (and index). However, only much later, I accidentally read the column title and realized the record listed “Age next Birthday.” Therefore, if Leota provided her correct age, she was 17 years old on the date of her second marriage. This prompted me to recalculate her possible birth year.
We forget what we already have
This is especially pertinent when we have copious information we have gathered. While preparing Peter’s timeline, I performed an exhaustive search and concluded I didn’t know when and where he might have prospected for precious metals. Serendipitously, I revisited my aunt’s research and found her interview notes that named a family member who had possession of an 1862 mining claim document. This information provided a lead on a specific date and a general location.
What we have may not identify where we think it is
When I followed an old family story about Peter who went to the “Dakotas” about the time of the US Civil War, I had to learn more about geography and the history of boundary changes. Coupling that with the information I’d previously forgotten and then rediscovered about a mining claim, I updated “My Current (2026) Understanding.” It now reads: “Boundaries and jurisdiction names may change, but a place (usually) stays put. Perhaps Peter traveled to current North Dakota or South Dakota in the early 1860s. However, from my aunt’s interview notes about a descendant of Peter’s brother-in-law, I believe it’s much more likely that in 1862 our Peter and his brothers-in-law were mining in Dakota Territory, near current day Helena, an area that later became part of the State of Montana.”
What we have may not identify who we think we have
It didn’t make sense to me that the grave of John P__, who died at Vicksburg, Mississippi was listed in a federal cemetery 300 miles down the Mississippi River in Louisiana. Searching for burial records, I learned that during the Civil War, perhaps 60 men named “John P__” served in the military, and several had died on or near the same date as our relative. After more research, I understood our John P__’s identity had been conflated with another same-named soldier who had died in Louisiana the same month and year.
“My Current (2026) Understanding” now includes: “Short of finding definitive records or DNA matches, we may never be able to determine whether the remains of our John P__ were reinterred at Vicksburg National Cemetery, near the location of his reported death.”
While writing family stories and histories, sometimes the most honest gift I can give the reader is to identify what I’ve found and not found. Sometimes part of our gifts to the reader is not an answer or an assumption, but a humble admission. These could be “I don’t know,” or “This is my best estimate,” or “I hope you will find reliable information that will shed light on this matter.”
- When summarizing your research, how do you allow for the possibility of finding more records and context or of better understanding what you’ve already found?
- Concerning family history research, does the term “My Current Understanding” strike you as wise—or as wishy-washy?
[1] “1841 Enumerators’ Instructions,” rootsweb.com, (https://freepages.rootsweb.com/~somtcen/genealogy/1841instructions.html : accessed 16 July 2026).