Not Dutch


I get this all the time. Pretty much any time I meet a new person.


I can see where this confusion lies. I have the percieved look and occupation of any good Canadian Dutch girl, supported by an upbringing in a community dominated by Dutch immigrants. Kids had buttered bread with chocolate sprinkles in their lunches, I grew up using common Dutch phrases and expressions without realizing, and part of the Ottawa Valley accent comes from the Dutch. It's a concoction of Dutch meets Gaelic with a hint of illiteracy. You can't mistake it if you hear it. (Apparently voted Canada's Sexiest Accent last year, score!)


I'm actually Irish and Scottish, with a touch of French. My maternal great grandparents came over from Ireland and settled our farm in the early 1800s, and on my Dad's side, we were probably some of the first settlers to come over to New France in the early days. Renaud is literally the Smith of the French. Along the way, there was a lot of marrying of Scottish and Irish woman which inevitably lead to my father's DNA test coming up heavy on both those markers. Specifically, he discovered he's more Scottish than anything. That doesn't surprise me at all. We have a Tartan.


Not that any of this matters, of course. In the end, I'm just a Canadian. Six generations in on one side, and Lord knows on the other. At this point, I think it's fair to say I'm not really any of those things anymore, but for some reason, we all love to dive into genealogy! People, especially in Kitley, love to talk about their backgrounds and traditions. It makes for interesting conversation, but also, a few jokes on my part. "Nope, not Dutch. Just a few too many kicks to the arse!"