The Holiday- the one yesterday that commemorates the ouster of the British King from these shores- enabled abolitionists to outlaw the abominable institution that still scars our world. It took a while- the better part of a century and the end or undoing of nearly a million lives to do it. Every family was affected then, in a time when a “million” was as large and imposing as our “trillion” word is today.
Part of the day’s repast was the memory of that past. There seems to be a fight about the sacrifice of others long ago. It is one in which the Editorial Staff has determined not to re-engage after some clarifying legislation more than a half-century ago. There was life all around us, a backstory incorporating the life-affirming hum of non-mammalian beings in ceaseless activity and the studied silence of feral farm felines on the prowl. And periodic muffled blasts of raw human joy that punctuated the bright day.
Before we got to the official celebration there was a minor controversy about how many “g’s” to associate with the memory of those who actually fought for what we have today. The ones who periodically left their homes and hearths and loved ones to do something revolutionary. Our end of the Long Green Table decided to recall that our Grandfather’s grandfather joined the 72nd Ohio Volunteer Infantry to support Mr. Lincoln’s position on the matter and that should mark ours. It would be that close if they were here to share the memory. Then we talked about the food.
There is something primordial about that topic, and one for which there was universal reverence and support. Some at the table actually participate in the minor sustaining miracles. That naturally includes the creation of new faces to dot the places around the table, but is equally fundamental. The cucumbers? Green, firm and assertive in texture and taste? The tomatoes? Rich, red, ripe. Grown here, from this soil we temporarily occupy. Carefully nurtured in the early Springtime when cold was still pervasive, slight but green and growing in hope. And then, after that care transferred by human hands, into nutritious morsels of green and scarlet foodstuffs enhanced with the essence of balsamic vigor and seasoned with love.
The morning coffee was enhanced with the sweetness produced by local bees from the flowering vegetation around us. They made appearances, augmented with succulent shrimp from the mighty Gulf and delightful rich marinated cuts from the local suppliers. All enhanced with the stories of how it all came to be, the augmentation of precious spices to each dish, the potato salad, real country coleslaw with texture enhanced by precision cuts to cabbage and fruit. The graceful tendrils of field onions nurtured with love. And the conversation of people who love who they are, where they are, and who are connected to the soil upon which we walk and which will someday receive us home.
We saluted those who created this land 245 years ago. We raised a glass to Grandpa’s grandfather’s grandfather, who may have been one of those 800 young Pennsylvanians who walked these trails to join the young Marquis de Lafayette on his march from these fields that sustain us today. They were heading south and east toward a similar place rich in life and drama called “Yorktown.”
There was no controversy about that. In fact, there were seconds of emotion passed around. A unity of our lives with those with whom we shared. Optimism. A joy that infuses each bright morning and swells with the natural fulsome chorus of those creatures flying wild and the farm beings that each contribute to our melody of life. In a great place in a marvelous nation in which we all play our parts. Sometimes with tears. Sometimes with the essence of the life that courses in our veins. And almost always with a wry grin, knowing what must be done will be done. Once we get on it.
I think Grandma’s grandmother’s grandmother would smile about what she and her family wrought on these wild and productive shores. Now, for our summer. Harvest will be here soon enough. But of course there is work to be done.
But we do that as a matter of course.
Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
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