I grew up with stories from my Nana talking about our Spanish ancestry. It was something my family was very proud of. I don't know if our dna remembers where we come from but whenever I am in Spain I feel at home. My Mom was able to trace my Dad's maternal side of the family to Herrera, Spain. Francisco Xavier de Herrera came to New Mexico during the 1700's with some land given to him by her Majesty of Spain. Apparently he was a bit of a rascal and his young wife kicked him out. She later took care of him in his old age and that's where the trail goes cold. After a night in Mijas, Spain and getting to see the impressive Semana Santa Procession my parents and I loaded up our things and headed towards Herrera. It's a small town about an hour away from Sevilla. We rolled up and started asking for directions to the cathedral. One of the locals had us follow him in his car and left us at the main cathedral. We wandered inside to find the townspeople decorating the elaborate thrones for that nights procession. Dad and I speak some Spanish but had a terrible time understanding the Andalucian dialect. They were so sweet trying to help us even though we didn't understand one another. Eventually one of the guys called his cousin who spoke english. Toni, a local council member, immediately came to the church. We showed him what little information we had and he said he would check with the archbishop in Sevilla since all the records in Herrera were burned during the Spanish-Civil War during the 30's. It was such a fun visit and although we did not find out more about our family we left with an invitation to return to Herrera. So wild to think that some of these people in the cathedral were probably my distant cousins. We will definitely be back!
