Spring had arrived once again, dressed in all her finery of green and lilac. She had shed the darkness of winter by dressing herself in a regal fashion of color and the heady aroma of blossoms still new with the morning dew. Wild roses peeked through brambles and the sweet smell of rain lay like gentle tears on her petals. It was a time of rebirth; a time to return.

We drove slowly, weaving around bumps in the dirt road. This was the time of year we all looked forward to; a time of gathering together; a time to rekindle and reaffirm the bond of family. Our family reunion, held annually, was a grand affair.

The family had dispersed through the years, branching out and moving ahead in their own travels to seek adventure and live dreams, but always returned to this place they called home. This land held many memories.

The house, set against the rambling hillside, stood strong and proud. The front porch, stretched halfway 'round the house, was set with covered tables waiting for food. It was early yet, and already the porch door began to swing open and shut on its squeaking hinges. The patter of bare feet and flapping sandals had begun to parade and fill the yard. Boards propped on stone blocks lined the perimeter of the green grass, and would soon be spread with bottoms and laps holding plates piled high with a feast.

It was a hot day, but we were thankful for the sunshine. We were thankful that time had seen us through another year, and brought us back to our beginning. Such a feeling of comfort and safety rushed over us...as if we'd never really left. Sisters hugged sisters; brothers hugged sisters; hearts touched and a family reunited. Cameras dangled at the ends of straps and waited to be used. We gathered in front of the house to freeze the moment on film -- moved closer together - smiled - snap!, then reminisced some more. We talked quickly as the day slipped away under the newborn sky. We knew it would not last forever, but how we wished it could.

The flies hovered over the feast as if they had been invited, and women waved paper plates and handkerchiefs to keep them off the food. Fathers gathered sons and with large hands on small shoulders, said Grace and thanked God for all He had given us. Then, we ate. Homemade recipes flooded our plates as we sighed with delight and dipped the spoon in for another helping. Blackberry dumplings, turkey and dressing, biscuits, brownies, bowls and baskets of good eatin'. We sat beneath a shade tree and indulged. It was not long before belts were loosened, and bare pink toes found their way outside of hot shoes tied too tight. Now was the time to lay back and bask in all the beauty of this country home.

The dog's bark; a bird's song; the echo of children laughing. We remember being the young ones. Now, we watch them. They frolic like fairies on moonbeams; they dance from stone to stone across the creek, and run bravely through the long grasses on the hill. They have only to lie down to be lost against the blue sky; they are so small. They have left their plates mounted with food for the eye of a hungry dog who delights as if he's found a treasure. Their energy is boundless as they chase after one another, impervious to the hanging heat. They return for a drink of cool water just long enough for us to wipe the heat from their shining red faces - and then they are off again - to ride the wild horses, or drive the big tractor. We revel in their youth, for we know how little time they have to be young.

The afternoon matured beneath pillowed clouds of white, and as tradition once again offered its hand in this special day, we began to gather our stuffed bodies together, and climb the hill. The worn foot path coiled its way to the top of a beautiful rise that let us look out across the homeland for miles. It seemed right that this day, in its descent, should draw us upward towards the heavens, where we could feel the spiritual warmth of God. Encased by an old wire fence rested our ancestors; our very origin. Assembled beneather the shelter of a lone cedar tree, the headstones stood solid and proud against the earth.

It was here that the legends would find their way into our everyday lives; older ones resting hand to head and speaking words of wisdom to all who listened. It was here that stories of days gone by would be told again and again, to our children, and the babes of their children; the songs of yesterday echoing across the hills.

Here stood a family, young and old, in all their beauty - bonded together by love, and a hope that all would return to this hill again next year, and thank God for being a part of this wonderful family.

- June 1982 -
Kate Dixon