You don’t say? And I almost missed it?
I don’t know how seriously to take anything that starts out as a Facebook group, but as there’s a family myth about a Norwegian able seaman named Michaelsen who jumped ship in New Orleans, headed North and ended up near the Nebraska-Illinois border, changing his name to avoid identification and eventually becoming my great-great-grandfather, I will cheerfully accept hugs. (The great thing about America is that you can poach on so many national identities.)
I submit Exhibit A (there are no surviving pictures of any quality in the Michaelsen generation; this is my great-granduncle Manuel, which is the sort of name that might come down in a Scandihoovian family from seafaring). A subsequent generation of Scots-Irish creamed the pure Nordic strain in the genes, but I own that jaw, all 317 miles of it.