Last weekend my mother was energetic enough to host a family reunion for my father's side of the family. To accommodate so many people, a nearby property was rented to hold the overflow of guests. The cottage we stayed in was undoubtedly charming. It felt like we stepped back to countryside living in 1942.
When I was a child, my four great-aunts lived in a farmhouse outside of Utica New York. We would visit yearly and, although often bored, it simmered in the rustic summer heat, that made me feel like my mother's mother. Or I guess my father's mother, because it was his aunts, her sisters. We would try to get lost in the corn fields and play croquette for hours. They would teach us to knit and say old fashion expression after old fashion expression. I wish I had realized it wouldn't be long before it was all a memory. That farmhouse is now sold, and that piece of my childhood is unvisitable, except for the images left in my mind.
And the furniture all went along with the era . . .
The kids found fun in the wooden bench-swing outside, but I could feel their boredom
just like I had felt.
The resident geese posed for pictures . . .
It was wonderful to see all my family, and fun to spend a night away.