Cowboy hats and rattlesnakes

So I promised to say a little more about the trip for Auntie's funeral.

Her kids and grandkids were all there at the end, and she was aware of it. The last grandkid arrived Wednesday evening and with her whole family there, at home, at the ranch, at peace, she went to sleep.

My brother called Thursday morning to tell me she had passed away. I left work and boogied upcountry, taking along several boxes of family pictures to sort through for the services.

We spent Friday getting things ready for the funeral. We sorted through pictures for some collages of her life. For several years now, every time I visited her we went through a stack of pictures to identify people in them. My family seems to have an irritating gene that keeps people from writing on the backs of pictures. Fortunately, before my Grandpa died back in the 60s, Auntie had sat him down and made him identify a lot of the oldest pictures, many from the 19th century, but in a couple of large trunks at the ranch there were still literally thousands of unidentified pictures. While looking for pictures of Auntie, I finally made it to the bottom of the second trunk but only because I was looking for pictures of her specifically and just breezed through the rest. There are still many unidentified but I think there are enough already that we can at least figure out who the people are.

Other treasures found in that trunk:

Newspapers with my great-grandmother's obituary (I never knew exactly when she died and Auntie couldn't remember for certain, just that it was in the mid 1940s).

My grandmother's high school yearbook from 1919 and college yearbook from 1924 - we already have several copies of some prior years because a number of relatives attended that college in the years around 1920.

Christmas postcards sent to my grandmother's sister by various relatives (no idea why my grandmother ended up with them, I suspect it's because she probably handled her mother's effects after her death).

Some other outstanding pictures of the ranch from the old days, including one of the original highway bridge across the creek next to the old schoolhouse; Auntie and Mom both went there (Mom only up to second grade, at which point there were only two kids in the whole school). I remarked that that old bridge must have washed out several times since it was right down on the water, and my cousin told me that one time when it washed out Auntie and the other kids were brought across the raging waters on a rope pulley. We suspect this contributed to Auntie's lifelong aversions to both boating and flying.

These are only some of the things I found this time. There was a lot I didn't even look at (beyond the many treasures I had found before) and I haven't even touched the attic.

We, by which I mean not I but my cousins who have a creative streak, put together the collages, one for childhood, one for young adulthood, and one for her later years. We also spiffed up the house and such.

Later Friday evening, we watch a video of some old home movies Auntie had transferred to VHS. Several Christmases, starting before I was born and continuing after we had moved from the ranch to SoCal. Several Easters. Hunting seasons (including a shot of me at about three years old posing with a buck then trying to drag it to the skinning area at the smokehouse). A lot of family and friends I miss very much: Mom, Dad, Auntie, Uncle Jack, Grandpa, Aunt Mae, Shine, Jimmy, Chief, Doc, Curly, Injun Joe (seriously, we had an Injun Joe working at the ranch long before I was born, even before my mother was born), and others I know of but don't really remember personally.

Saturday and Sunday, more folks arrived: my cousin's stepkids and stepgrandkids, my little bro and his family, the sainted bride and my kids. We continued doing the little things that needed doing. We started collecting Auntie stories for the services. We did a lot of laughing and crying. Some of my cousin's new family had not yet visited the ranch so we did some tourguiding. We took the little kids out to see the cows and sheep and pigs, as well as some deer and other wild life (not that kind, though there were some wild turkeys), and took some of the city folks out to plink at some rocks and trees and cans.

Sunday, some friends with a catering service brought lunch/dinner for everybody. That evening was the family service, really more of a vigil at the chapel.

Monday was the funeral. Huge turnout, of course. Auntie was well-known and well-loved. Part of the service was by the husband of a second cousin we are close with. He shared the stories we collected and more besides.

One of the stories was about Auntie's particular dislikes. Her two biggest were rattlesnakes and men who wear hats in the house. The part he didn't share, probably because we forgot to tell him, was about the time some joker walked into Auntie's kitchen wearing a cowboy hat with a rattlesnakeskin hatband and rattles. Mercifully, Auntie allowed the poor bastard to live but to the best of my knowledge, he's never been back.

After the chapel service we went to the cemetery, where I was a pallbearer. After a very short service there, many of the people went out to the ranch. Some of them were people I hadn't seen since I was a little kid. One looked very familiar but I couldn't quite place her until she said "Remember Shine? He brought you up to go fishing with us", at which point I yelled "Mickey!" and hugged her to pieces.

Now, a short anecdote to complete a circle: Some time back, I told a story about my family. Part of that story was that my grandfather's brother had died very young and was buried on the family ranch, a portion which is no longer in the family. After my Mom died, my little bro and I contacted the folks who run that ranch now (and who, BTW, were at Auntie's funeral and out at the ranch afterward) for permission to visit the grave. We did so, and took the picture linked in that post. In addition to Frank's grave was the grave of Elisha Abbott, my great-grandfather's business partner. Also, there was a third grave with a name I didn't recognize. I took a picture of it also, hoping to one day find out who it was. That was four years ago.

Flashforward to the present: I was chatting with an old school friend of my Mom's when a fellow I didn't know came up to talk with her. Toward the end of the conversation, he mentioned Mom then wandered off not knowing who I was. A little later, I thought I should at least introduce myself since he had mentioned Mom so I found him sitting next to Mickey (which was when I realized who she was). I introduced myself and we talked a bit. He said his grandfather had worked for my great-grandfather for a time and later traded cattle with him. He told a couple of stories about his grandfather and the old days and then said, "In fact, my grandfather's buried down at that ranch". And suddenly his last name clicked. How freakin' cool is that?

It seems that his grandfather had stopped in for a visit with my great-grandfolks. It got late and they invited him to stay over. He died during the night and since it was the middle of winter, he was buried near Frank and Elisha.

Not much more to tell about the funeral or after. Acquaintances were renewed, memories were shared, tears were shed. People started heading home, bro took his family to the airport so they could get the kids back to school.

Tuesday morning I took Daughter Number One out gunning for coyotes (didn't see any). Later, after sainted bride and the kids left for home, bro and I went with the cousins to town to help them start on the painful process of dealing with Auntie's affairs and effects. Business concluded, we went to lunch then back to the house. I packed up and got ready to take off. Just before I left, we decided that it really sucks to be so widely scattered that the only time we all get together is for weddings or funerals, so we're going to set aside a particular time each year when we all get together at the ranch. We all get there now but rarely at the same time. Now we will.

One more thing: my sentimental cousin and I both decided that if one of us hits the lottery, we want to do some work out at the ranch. Remodel the living room to put back the old mantle the way it was forty-some years ago (meaning, the way it was in those home movies we watched). Rebuild the lambing shed. Put back wooden gates in the barn lot instead of the modern metal monstrosities. In short, we want it the way it was when we were kids. I know, pipe dream. But it's a dream, and that's what counts.

Well anyway, I grabbed a bagful of Auntie's homegrown tomatoes and peppers and hit the road. Speaking of the way it was when I was a kid, not far down the road I got off the freeway and traveled the frontage road, old Highway 99, through the towns and cities of the valley. Just because.

Posted by Ken S at September 25, 2006 11:57 AM | TrackBack (0) |