Vicki, your
comments, in our conversations as well as written, has me looking at how I
want to share my thoughts, especially in this blog, though also the family
Facebook page I’m part of. It also has
me reaffirming what we shared yesterday about our thinking and goals (if we want
to use that word) have, and are, evolving for our effort.
Today, I’ll
tell “Story” in hopes people’s thinking and memories will respond. I know it
will influence our phone visits! Part of
this I shared on Facebook a few weeks ago.
And, it is a
longer post than what either of us usually write. 😊
The elevation at
Idol City (those mining claims of my childhood) is six thousand feet so there
was always a chance of frost at night and a rapid chill whenever the sun went
behind a cloud. In my memory I hear the crackle of the fire in both the cook
stove and in the heating stove, which stood in the middle of the bedroom,
burning in the evenings when we needed its warmth against the chill mountain
air. We used pine, fir and, especially for cooking heat, mountain mahogany.
Toasty warmth as my eyes grew heavy with sleepiness, water heating in wash pans
and tea kettle for the dishes and, of course, lamplight - in later years a
Coleman gas lantern hanging from a nail so Mom could better see. The scent of
tobacco from Granddad and Dad's pipes as they planned for the work ahead, the
sound of Granddad’s voice as he told a story - how he could tell stories!
It was there I
began to learn the importance of “Story”
~ especially those stories which teach us about who or what we are.
Years later that
lesson came home, and I became particularly aware of Story’s power as a group of family members gathered in a restaurant
after my aunt’s death. As “Aunt Angie” stories began to be told, the richness
of Story washed over and around us and I realized how important hearing them
was ~ to all of us. We didn’t come together often, some of us had met only a
few times, but as the river of memories circled and embraced us, I realized
through Story, we were able to be family, bound together
through the ties of love and memory. We were able to laugh and grieve. Story
not only bound us together but helped us experience closure as we honored her
life through our shared memories.
For me there was
added the richness of experiencing how Granddad’s talent for telling stories
has come down through the generations for at least three of his descendants
have, each in their own unique way, inherited Clyde’s ability to weave spells
through their gift of storytelling. “How
rich we are!” I thought as I felt the spell of their story telling weaving
around me that wonderful evening.
Since then I’ve
come to see how hungry others often are for a sense of connection and belonging
which can only come from knowing who they are which is best known through
knowing their family’s Story.
My sense of how important it is for people to have
that sense of belonging, of knowing “where they came from” gained clarity
during a family dinner as we sat, eating and talking. Our children were grown ~
all, at least out of high school ~ and we always gathered, monthly or oftener,
for a time of “family.” The conversation that day turned to friends of theirs
struggling with a variety of troubles, marital and legal.
“They don’t know
who they are, they grew up so far away from extended family, they have no
grounding” was their response when I asked why their friends were struggling.
“Why is it different for you?” I asked, “We moved you up here, away from your
grandparents, aunts and uncles ~ just like your friends?” My children seemed
grounded to me ~ focused, certainly not having any work or legal troubles. The
four pointed to the “ancestor pictures” covering the wall of our dining area,
“We know who we are,” they said,
“because of those pictures ~ not just the pictures ~ we know their stories.”
That conversation
was a beginning impetus for me to write ~ and, here we are today😊
