A journey shared with our children — where history, memory, and family crossed paths along the American East Coast.

This time we were not travelling alone. Our children were with us, and that changed everything. What for me had long been a search through archives and records became something tangible for them — places, monuments, and living relatives.

We began in New York City, a place that for many European families marked the first step into a new world. At Ellis Island, walking through the great immigration halls, we reflected on the courage of those who once left familiar soil behind.

In Battery Park, we stood before the memorial wall where the name of Lloyd Landscoot is engraved — lost near Greenland when his ship was torpedoed during the war. Seeing his name carved in stone gave a quiet weight to the family story. It was no longer just a record; it was remembrance.

From New York we travelled to Washington, D.C.. The White House, the solemn stillness of the Korean War Memorial, and the powerful Vietnam Veterans Memorial reminded us how closely personal histories intertwine with world history.

Further south we continued to Greenville, North Carolina, where we met Barbara Skivington and her husband. Barbara has since passed away, but the memory of her warmth remains vivid. During our stay we also visited the nearby military naval base — in Charleston, South Carolina, the impression of scale and discipline has stayed with us.

Our journey then led us to Jacksonville, Florida, where we visited Charles Landschoot, a descendant of the Knokke branch. It was another reminder of how the Belgian coastal roots had found new soil thousands of miles away.

The final stop brought us to St. Petersburg, Florida, where we were welcomed by Patricia, Richard, Phillip and Debby Van Landschoot, together with their partners and some of their children. Conversations, shared meals, photographs, and laughter turned genealogy into something living and immediate.

It was, once again, a fantastic journey — not only across states, but across generations. For our children, it was perhaps the first time they truly understood that family history is not just something written in books, but something that continues — through them.