We moved to the Hudson Valley region of New York in July 2025. It has been a coming home of sorts for me. I was born about 3 hours north of where we would be living. But I hadn’t lived regularly in New York State in 41 years, so in most ways, it was a brand new world.
Shortly after arriving, I was driving down the thruway (translation for Californians- freeway). I was humming along, lost in my thoughts, heading to the Hudson Valley from Syracuse, when I saw the flashing lights behind. I was being pulled over. I had never received a moving violation in 35 years of driving in Calfornia, or in my life. I had been in New York 1 month, and my perfect record was about to end.
Apparently there was something called the “move over law” in my new/old state, one that required drivers to move in to the center lane when passing a cop or emergency vehicle. When the cop came up to the car, he was pissed. I had not moved over, and he ticketed me. And then he gave me a second ticket for speeding- 4 whole miles over the speed limit, just for good measure. I realized this had happened miles earlier, and he had hunted me down like an escaped convict. I received my ticket, and slunk the rest of the way 10 miles under the speed limit, which gave me ample time to notice the preponderance of roadside signs reminding drivers of the move over law. Whoops.
35 years in California, I never got a ticket. 1 month in New York I had 2. Cops were everywhere, ready to write tickets, whereas in California, freeways felt lawless. I would often see drivers there weaving through traffic at over 100mph, with no cops around, as though the freeway were a video game. Maybe this was for the best.
My destination that day was Rhinecliff, NY. Our new home in Hyde Park, about 15 minutes south,was not quite ready, so we had to stay in an AirBnB for a month. Rhinecliff is right on the Hudson River and is a charming little village. Most activities in town revolve around the train station, a whistlestop on the way to New York City. There was a small corner store, and one restaurant called Kip’s, a pleasant place facing the river. We assumed Kip’s was named after the owner. It was a nice place to kill a month
At the AirBnB, other than navigating the byzantine world of dealing with traffic court, I found I had time on my hands. The house had a bookshelf with some dusty old titles, but the only one that caught my eye was a history of the town. I began leafing through it, and soon discovered that Kip’s was not named after the proprietor, but instead the founder of the town, a Dutchman by the name of Hendrick Kip. In fact the town was originally named Kipsbergen. This jogged my memory. A number of years earlier, I had researched my family tree, and traced a branch of the tree back to this part of New York, and the name Kip rang a bell. Sure enough, when I dug it out- there he was – Hendrick Kip, my 7th great grandfather.
Hendrick’s father was born in Amsterdam around 1600. After marrying, he and his wife sailed to the new world, and settled in New Amsterdam (New York, some time around 1640. Hendrick was born in 1654. At some point he came north with his brother Jacob, first settling in KIngston. In 1686, the Hendrick boys crossed the river, purchased land from the Sepasco Tribe, and founded the village named Kipsbergen.
In the book, there was mention of an old stone house on the edge of the village that was still standing, built by Jacob’s son Johannes, my 6th great-grandfather. And so, the next day I walked through the village to the edge of town, and there it was. A lovingly cared for stone home built in 1703. I instantly thought of it as the family home.
I brought Juan by the next day to excitedly show it off. I told him maybe I should knock on the door and introduce myself. He told me there were no Kips on the inside, but there would quickly be Cops on the outside, and in light of my recent brushes with the law here, I was playing with fire. He had a point. I pivoted and thought maybe I could at least get a free drink over at Kip’s Restaurant.
My ensuing village walks found me deep in thought. First, there was the rapidly expanding to-do list that would be part of us settling into a new home. Then there was the ongoing efforts to navigate those tickets and the byzantine New York state court system- did I really have to appear at the Wampsville Town Court next month? And where exactly was Wampsville? And finally, there was this amazing new discovery of my lineage- the Kips.
I had known from my genealogy research that I did have a lot of ancestors in the area. In addition to the Dutch “Kips”, I had German ancestors that came over as part of the Palatine immigration in the early 1700s. Unlike the wealthier Dutch, the Germans were refugees, and when they landed, they were basically serfs. They were the Schmidts , and after some time, the Schmidts and Kips comingled. The Schmidts eventually became Smiths, and all of that begat my grandfather Smith, who was born a few miles north. His family eventually moved up to Syracuse, where I was born, and where much of my family still lived.
Up to this point, I hadn’t really giving much though to my family history in this area. But seeing that house moved me. I thought of the line that could be drawn from that place and time, forward 322 years….to me. It had me reflecting on my ancestors braving this new world. First the unimaginable journey across the ocean. Then sailing up here from New York, and setting up shop here- a wild frontier. Unimaginable.
I began to think of myself in the same vein, the latest generation of Kips landing on the shores of the Hudson if you will. They needed to carve a path through the woods to a suitable place for a house. I had to set up our WiFi. They had to scavenge for food, we needed to find a place with good Mexican. I dropped the comparison.
A few weeks ago, I had to visit the post office in nearby Rhinebeck to mail a package. It was yet another charming 200 year old stone building. As I found the envelope I needed, I looked up, and there were historic images on the wall. And staring right back at me, was my 7th great grandfather- Hendrick Kip.
I felt a rush of pride. I looked around, and wanted to tell someone that was my ancestor, but I did not get the impression the bored clerk at the counter was going to be the least bit interested. I’d have to settle for the fact it was nice to see a member of the family on a post office wall …and not under the word “Wanted!”
Hendrick was a bit daintier than I imagined, but perhaps that was not his typical outfit when he was out negotiating for land. I thought I detected the tiniest resemblance to me, though I wear my hair shorter. Much shorter.
And so, here we are, living in Hyde Park, NY of all places. And we are settling in. Thanks to on-line traffic school, I managed to get the traffic tickets expunged without having to go to Wampsville. I now obediently move to the middle lane when I see a cop on the side of the road. We are working through our to do list, and the home is looking great. We even found good Mexican food.
So the new world is starting to feel more like a home. Though I suppose if I do find myself momentarily adrift, and I can stop by the post office and say hello to ole Hendrick Kip. Or wander over to Kip’s, and see if I can still get that free drink. I just need to mind the speed limit.
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