We go to Beaver to the Family Reunion, gathering together on my father's mountain as we have for nearly 40 years. This year, for most of us, it is a night or two under the pines. Other years it has been several days.
Only four of us siblings remain--our mother dead more than 45 years, our father gone from us 6 years now, our sweet stepmother most recently departed 4 years ago, our other two sisters gone 17 years and 61 years. The other four of us are there, two brothers, two sisters, and some of each of our descendants down to third and fourth generations.
Everything is just as my father would have ordered it. Weather with bright clear summer skies, a snowbank nearby for making ice cream, a view of DeLano with green velvet growing right to the top, the double bare peaks of Baldy behind, deer wandering close enough to show the smallest child up close, wildflowers blooming all across the meadows in yellows and pinks and blues. We are above 10,000 feet here, nestled in the heart of these magnificent mountains where we spent summer evenings growing up, always connected with being together as a family.
This place makes me. . .makes me. . .think of my father. This place exemplifies his giving to us much of what he knew mattered most. Family, relationships, independence, learning to live on the land, all surrounded with his high respect for nature and beauty and wildness, and animals, and the God who created it all for us. . .for us! We are most blessed.
The highlight--outside the several side conversations with this niece or that nephew--is the Saturday midday meal and the family meeting that follows. This year the food is terrific. My father said when you eat on the mountain the food is always terrific. The meeting is interesting, each family reporting on each descendant, catching up on what is happening, who is struggling, who is triumphing.
Strangely, this year the world intrudes. The Sheriff's Department comes to tell us to be careful on the roads on Saturday. It seems they are holding a long distance bike race--some 70 miles--from downtown Beaver, up the mountain, over the hill down to the other side then coming along the road by us here on Big Flat and finishing at the ski resort a couple of miles down the canyon. What? The Tours de Beaver?
Later in the afternoon, as we leave, we pass several of those bikers with their beautiful bikes, professional bike suits, and protective helmets. Amazing. I look at them as we pass them and wonder what drives someone to do that kind of hard thing.
I come away cheering, really, grateful for this family in spite of our particular foibles. Mostly grateful for the fine growing upness I see in young people, grateful for the steadfastness of those a bit more mature, the presence of everyone who chooses to come to be together, glad for our parents who loved this place. Blessings.
Only four of us siblings remain--our mother dead more than 45 years, our father gone from us 6 years now, our sweet stepmother most recently departed 4 years ago, our other two sisters gone 17 years and 61 years. The other four of us are there, two brothers, two sisters, and some of each of our descendants down to third and fourth generations.
Everything is just as my father would have ordered it. Weather with bright clear summer skies, a snowbank nearby for making ice cream, a view of DeLano with green velvet growing right to the top, the double bare peaks of Baldy behind, deer wandering close enough to show the smallest child up close, wildflowers blooming all across the meadows in yellows and pinks and blues. We are above 10,000 feet here, nestled in the heart of these magnificent mountains where we spent summer evenings growing up, always connected with being together as a family.
This place makes me. . .makes me. . .think of my father. This place exemplifies his giving to us much of what he knew mattered most. Family, relationships, independence, learning to live on the land, all surrounded with his high respect for nature and beauty and wildness, and animals, and the God who created it all for us. . .for us! We are most blessed.
The highlight--outside the several side conversations with this niece or that nephew--is the Saturday midday meal and the family meeting that follows. This year the food is terrific. My father said when you eat on the mountain the food is always terrific. The meeting is interesting, each family reporting on each descendant, catching up on what is happening, who is struggling, who is triumphing.
Strangely, this year the world intrudes. The Sheriff's Department comes to tell us to be careful on the roads on Saturday. It seems they are holding a long distance bike race--some 70 miles--from downtown Beaver, up the mountain, over the hill down to the other side then coming along the road by us here on Big Flat and finishing at the ski resort a couple of miles down the canyon. What? The Tours de Beaver?
Later in the afternoon, as we leave, we pass several of those bikers with their beautiful bikes, professional bike suits, and protective helmets. Amazing. I look at them as we pass them and wonder what drives someone to do that kind of hard thing.
I come away cheering, really, grateful for this family in spite of our particular foibles. Mostly grateful for the fine growing upness I see in young people, grateful for the steadfastness of those a bit more mature, the presence of everyone who chooses to come to be together, glad for our parents who loved this place. Blessings.
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