Just over two years ago, I took a DNA test to figure out anything I could about who my father’s biological family were. (He had been adopted at birth, a fact we always knew and my grandparents were open about, though they had never been given any information about his biological family or origins). Two years (and much research) later, I found myself on a plane late one night in late August to Lexington, Kentucky. The next morning, we drove two and a half hours east to an isolated, rural, very hilly area. It was green, with winding roads that twisted and turned, revealing interesting panoramas of hilly landscape and…
