I slept in "the bridal suite" - so named for the portrait on the wall - not because I am or plan to be a bride in the near future.
I do take pictures of other people's pictures. I'm normal like that.
We spent the weekend visiting with kin from both sides of our paternal grandparent's family.
The ingenious set-up of back-to-back reunions have been allowing us to see more relatives per mile for as long as I can remember.
How nice it was on Friday to be with my immediate family, to share an excellent BBQ meal (also generously provided by Dad) and to watch the fading light of sunset through the valley from a strategically placed hammock (which I keep in my car with a small hiking pack "
in case of adventure".)
<< For Memory's Sake: My poor little toaster-car, even with a sport mode and some get-up-and-go, could not get-up-and-went the steep, soft gravel driveway and spent the night below us. Fetching the luggage was good exercise though. >>
Sunrise from the same hammock was more of a lifting of the mountain's veil but it was accompanied by a birdsong chorus. (see album for video/sound)
When we met up with Grandpaw's side on Saturday, I learned that there are more Ingalls store locations in town than I last remembered and had used the wrong one to navigate by. I also realized Apple maps was highly unreliable for the area and swirched over to Google Maps for the duration. We still arrived in time to help set up tables and a Zoom station with New Jersey. We arranged the food in flocks of like kind: Meat, Vegetables & Sides, Bread, Salads & Deviled Eggs, and the always popular Desserts.
The youngins grabbed their fishing poles and headed out back to wade in the Cartoogechaye. Some of us who used to splash in the same creek, watched that no one lost their footing on the cool, slippery rock bottom, from the footbridge that used to connect patches of trees but now connects ballfields and a Veteran's Memorial park. (see album for more/video)
There was still a mix of age and ability in the basketball gym. This is the place to tell you that Aunt Rosie- now 93 - once played basketball quite seriously. I learned this about her -and took a picture of her picture- when I attended Uncle Joe's funeral in Lumberton many years ago. It feels like only yesterday.
I got to see Munjin, my aunt from South Korea, who will always hold a special place in my heart for introducing me to seaweed (it took me some years to warm up to enjoying it) but moreso, the childhood memory - and anomaly- of her sizzling wok in the foothills of the Smoky/Blue Ridge mountains.
I love her for way more than that - but that's one of the earliest memories I hold near.
On Sunday, Grandma's side met up at The Lodge on Cat Creek, which is not a shortened form of Cartoogechaye, but an entirely different creek, named for the animal most likely to knock your drinking glass from the counter, unprovoked. It flows first from Emerson Lake before branching off the creek named Rabbit.
As on Friday and in keeping wtih Family Reunion Guidelines: we re-introduced ourselves to names that ring familiar from Facebook but must be matched with up-to-date and in-person faces (by-far more lovely than static profile pics which aren't often enough changed.) We will do much the same next year- adding in people whose schedule finally allows them to attend.
Years slip by even faster in family reunion years, I'm convinced it's true.
For both reunions, I made overnight yeast rolls, and "my" Mac & Cheese (which was handed down to me by another beloved aunt in my life.) But, the thing I am most proud of making is the coffee at The Lodge ...someone had to go first, I let it be me ;)
We ended the day on the mountain, at Rose Creek, just past the little church, in a graveyard full of near-and-dear names. Dad said a prayer as Uncle Claude's ashes were interred in the family plot. My cousin sang a song in honor of her dad and, I kid you not, heaven cried a little.
But you know, we laughed a little , too? It struck me, as we all stood there in our plain clothes, just saying a simple goodbye, how wrong we sometimes get graveside manner.
There is a form of laughter that is reverent and, if you're given to poetry and sentiment as I sometimes am, maybe even holy.
To be able to laugh at a memory, or the idea of what our lost loved one would say in this very moment, is to acknowledge their life.
They lived! And we got to know them. Well enough, even, to imagine them still near.
Laughter amongst family in the face of those inflexible and eternal farewells is one of the most special intimacies, and blessings, afforded to us.
Please, if you love me - when my time here is up - come and laugh at my grave, bring good memories, too.
I took a lot from these old minetowns, back down the winding mountain roads: Grandpaw's mischeivious grin glinting in my uncle's eyes, my grandma's laughing smile glimpsed in the face of her sisters, the radiating warmth of time spent with family - all of it pure gold.
We all swear we are going to keep in touch even better this year. I sure hope we do.
** Addendum: For all the heart-felt sentiment I was trying to muster up there, I can't deny the
theme for Three's Company definitely sprang to mind as I typed the first words
<< "Come and knock on our door..." / "Come and laugh at my grave..." >>
Anyway - you know what I meant... probably. Moving on. Here's a
photo-album enjoy :)
