Thinking Home From Afar

Photo By Doris Bachert

A little over four months ago, I first published this photo taken by my cousin, Doris. It may not look like much, just a young tree on a hill in a rural part of Michigan, but for me, it is probably the sweetest spot on earth.

This coming weekend, dozens of my relatives are converging on the spot for the first big family reunion we've organized in years, no doubt since we buried my mother's ashes among the roots of this little tree six summers ago.

Since then we've lost relatives, including Uncle George. It had been one of my fiercest hopes in this year of multiple disappointments that I would be able to attend this family gathering, partly to honor those who have passed, but even more so to connect again with my Michigan family, few of whom ever venture west of the Mississippi more often than once every half century or so.

I may be a grizzled, old lefty journalist, a long-time radical activist from the 60s, a stereotype in many of their eyes; but if so, they don't really know the man I have become. Yes, I have strong opinions on any number of topics, but I defy anyone to accurately classify me politically, spiritually, or intellectually. I just do not fit into anyone else's projection; never have; never will.

None of that matters, of course. Such matters are trivial compared to the bond of common blood. Blood is blood; family is family. I would do anything for a relative of mine, except something morally or ethically wrong, like harming someone else at their request. (No Godfather-type gathering for us!)

I've always loved my family. But I wouldn't be the family person I am if I squandered our dwindling resources to allow a horrible monopoly (Northwest/Delta Air) steal hundreds of dollars from me for a three-day RT visit. This is the Scottish side of my family that is gathering, after all. They understand how important it is to live within your means, and to first take care of your children.

But I admit to being very, very depressed that I will not be there. I feel very much a failure in this regard. I've checked every airfare deal for weeks. There has been nothing. Thus, I'm reduced to sending my greetings from afar.

They will miss me, of course, but they have no idea how much I will miss them. Saturday night, I am going to attend a different kind of ceremony, in the spirit of my family, or at least my version of my family. I will post that in honor of the gathering at Rolling Hills.

Love from San Francisco. Enjoy those meat pies! And if you follow the treeline from camp southward, you'll find a good patch of blackberry bushes. Don't know if they're ripe yet. Check out the apple trees. Catch a fat blue gill or sunfish for me. Better yet, a small mouth bass. I'm sure my dad still holds the all-time record for pulling delicious bass out of Mud Lake.

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