text: A couple of years ago, after some deliberation, I took the Ancestry DNA test. I was prepared for surprises. After all, there was a problem with my grandmother, Lil. She seems to have appeared one day and married grandpa, with no documentable past. Escaped slaves or vicious criminals, might be revealed. Six weeks after taking the test, results appeared on the Ancestry web site. The results showed high percentages of western Europe countries and one big surprise. I'm six percent "unknown." Looking at the online map, I saw the routine blobs on Europe, indicating the locations of my Ancestors. However, there was another blob covering the Pacific Northwest. Sensing that I might be able to brag about native American Ancestry, I became obsessed with finding out what this was about. I contacted customer service on Ancestry and was told that the genetic material was not Native American, the people who have this trait always trace back to the Pacific Northwest. I started leaving messages on Ancestry to my cousins, trying to find an answer to my genetic puzzle. Most did not reply, but finally, I traded messages with a cousin who told me a little about the Pacific Northwest branch of the family. This cousin informed me about her great aunt Sarah who lived on a mountain road east of Seattle. Great Aunt Sarah knew all about the mysterious branch of the family. Aunt Sarah had no landline, and the only way to contact her was to drop in and visit. Soon I flew to Seattle, rented a car, and, using a map my cousin had sent me, drove into the mountains. The countryside was lush, the trees were leaning over the road and shading into a greenish twilight. Following the map, I turned down a twisting side road and drove up a mountainside. It started misting as I turned down a long driveway. Soon an old log cabin came into view. A big coon hound ran out excitedly to meet my car. An old woman, shrunken with age, sat in a rocker on the front porch. As I got out of the vehicle, the old woman stood to see who was visiting. Even with the years diminishing her, she stood over six feet tall. She wore an old baggy dress and a bonnet. She spoke, “You must be Libby’s boy, Ralph. I was told you’d be coming.” She motioned to an empty chair next to her rocker, saying, "You look just like your grandfather. Big feet and hairy hands and all." Introducing herself, she said, "I'm your Aunt Sarah. I knew your mother Libby, a little bit of a thing. Libby was ashamed of our branch of the family and never told anyone about us." After I sat, aunt Sarah pulled out a gallon ceramic jug, poured a pinkish liquid into a mason jar, and handed it to me. She went on, “This is an old family recipe. My great grandfather was a mountain man from Kentucky, and he brought the art of moonshine with him." The liquor was strong and had a smooth, pleasant taste. Sarah told me, sipping from her own mason jar, "The pink color is from mountain berries which we soak in our shine for flavor and smoothness." Then Sarah said, "You're not the first to come up here looking to find out about the unknown nationality. Everyone before you, when they find out the truth, they have decided to keep it to themselves. The branch of the family that lives in these hills is very shy. We are just as happy being alone." “My great-granddaddy, Jeff Jefferson, came to these mountains to escape some legal trouble back in Kentucky. He made his living in the fur trade and built this cabin. Great granddad was a friendly man, but local tribes didn't want to have anything do with him, thinking he was crazy. His existence was prosperous but lonely. One winter, great-grandma moved into his cabin, one thing lead to another, and they considered themselves man and wife. Nowhere to get a ceremony in those days. She was bigger than him, but always treated him with gentleness and love.” She continued, "Your cousin Goldman is coming by today to drop off a fresh batch of shine. That must be him now." I heard something that sounded like a club beating against a tree. Aunt Sarah picked up a large wooden club and beat it on one of the porches supports then whistled. A large man stepped out of the woods wearing a straw hat and coveralls. He stood over seven feet tall and must have weighed over 400 pounds. His large feet were bare. His beard and body hair gave him a furry look. My hand disappeared into his when we shook hands. Sarah spoke up, "You must have figured it out by now, you are part sasquatch.