Thursday, July 3, 2014

Fourth of July: Childhood Memories, Thunderstorms, BBQ and Granny

Fourth of July. In my childhood that holiday meant one location, one event. It was a campout of fairly epic proportions with the Broughton family, a rag tag group of brothers and sisters, grandparents and grandkids. It was a summer party; a roadtrip to southern Oregon. And as that sparkler-filled, celebratory holiday nears, I am reminded how much I miss those reunions at the Ranch.

It was a dream weekend for a kid - acres upon acres of forest, fields, trails, barns, creeks and ponds to explore for three days with 15 like-minded troublemakers - cousins of the same age. Morning to night we played, fought, ran, swam, and laughed. Parents required check-ins but we were pretty free to roam with little oversight.





I’ve been flipping through my brain trying to piece together all my memories of those weekends. I can’t distinguish most years from the next but I know the feelings that the culmination of memories gives me. 

I already mentioned joy – there was definitely fun that could only be had with those people, at that age, in that setting. 


There is a little anxiety. For me as a kid, all of those cousins were intimidating. They were braver, louder and more imaginative than I was. It was so easy for most of the kids to slide right back into the relationships they ended the previous year. It wasn’t quite as easy for me. I kind of hung close to Ryan (much to his dismay, I have no doubt) and others I saw a little more frequently. 


Plus, I was terrified to explore too much –I mean there were snakes EVERYWHERE . Yeeauuuugh.


And I’ll be honest. I grew up in a very quiet household. The Broughton side of my family, I must lovingly say, is not from where that heritage comes. I was slow to adjust to the louder discourse. 


So 4th of July memories make me smile and a little tense. But those memories also bring a tinge of sadness. Not for the events themselves so much as for all the smiling faces I have in my head of great grandparents, great uncles & aunts who are no longer here. Images of each one laughing during badminton and card games, talking over dinner, giving me a hug when I arrived and when I left at the end of the weekend. Those memories make me sad because I miss them terribly. 


So, I feel compelled to get down in words the memories I have in my head of those great Independence Day weekends at the ranch. I myself have few photos from those weekends though I know my parents have some. I hope my fellow family members will share their fondest memories and maybe a photo or two (if not here, perhaps on my Facebook page.) I’d love to see them all this weekend so we could, in a way, celebrate the holiday weekend together even though we are all apart. 



A Few Sporadic Memories of July 4th Pasts

  • Granny leaning over the porch rail watching us play Volleyball. Smiling, heckling and laughing - She was always a participant.
  • The big cinder block BBQ pit with Uncle Roy at the helm and three to four other guys standing around it at all hours of the day. It was fathers, sons, brothers, uncles laughing and talking about who-knows-what while turning chicken, burgers, corn-on-the-cob, baked potatoes (the food was always outstanding!)
  • Creek play was amazing. We played war, house, explorers – you name it – along those creek beds. We had names for each section along the way though I don’t remember them now. And then of course there was the year Katie got stabbed in the center of her forehead by a rogue stick (was it a sword, a gun, a fishing rod – who remembers) while playing along the water. A small puncture wound but it bled like crazy.
  • There was a thunderstorm one year. The adults had opportunistically approved having nearly all of us sleep in our one monster-sized tent; we had roughly 8-11 kids in sleeping bags in one thin-walled cage. The thunder and lightning started and some of those brave cousins I was talking about earlier wanted to go and see it. So we ventured out into the middle of the night and sneaked quietly (highly unlikely) onto the porch where Granny kept a big metal bed. We piled on and sat watching the beautiful show across the night sky. It was amazing – I’ll never forget it.
  • Sitting on the trampoline (introduced as we had gotten older; claimed Jodi's ankle early on) one afternoon, I was watching the scene around me. Maybe there was someone on it with me, I don’t remember. But I remember scanning that wedge of the property where the house and yard, garage and fence, circle driveway, dog house, horseshoe pit, BBQ pit and front yard all sat together. And I remember looking over and seeing my grandpa and Uncle Fuzzy talking to each other near the horseshoe pits. I watched them for a while. There expressions changed from smiling to serious to laughing and back again. It was in that moment I realized, like clicked-in-my-head realized, that they were brothers. They were different but the same. They were close but distanced by life. It is such a strange, quiet memory I have from those weekends. Yet is nearly always one of the first I think of.

1 comment:

Barbara and Doug said...

Thank you sharing a peak into your past. Your writing is always a treat.