There was a family gathering near Augusta over the weekend. I have been to several, and forced my daughters to attend a time or two many years ago. I believe they were under great duress,while being bored beyond belief and felt like they were there at 'gun-point'! I'm pretty sure they were rolling their eyes, thinking 'oh, Mom...' the whole time - but at least they know where one-fourth of their forebears originated. They have travelled enough with me to not be surprised when we wander through cemeteries - occasionally even though we do not know anyone who might have found it their eternal resting place.
I got up early Saturday morning, heading north to Decatur, then due east, with my toothbrush and sleeping bag, semi-prepared to sleep on a picnic table in the campground at Mistletoe State Park. But as it turned out, threw myself on the kindness of a cousin, and mercifully not suffering mosquitos all night, or suffocating from heat/humidity of a sleeping bag zipped over my head. Thank you, Louisa : -)
So... I have been to visit the long-departed Smiths and Flukers in the Smith Family Cemetery overlooking Clarks Hill Lake. The 'old homeplace' is underwater, due to the Corps of Engineers dam built to contain the resevoir from the Savannah and Little Rivers, but the cemetery sits on a little rise, tidily surrounded by iron fenceing, in a clearing usually only accessible by boat. The cemetary is surrounded by undeveloped forest, as is most of the land abuting the lake, much 'manged' by the state/Corps for wildlife protection. A cousin went out last week and cleared the way of numerous fallen trees to make the rarely used dirt track accessible for the two miles from the nearest paved road. He occasionally goes out to pick up beer cans and refuse left by boaters who apparently find the family cenetery a perfect spot to party and build campfires, up on the pretty little hill overlooking the slough on a lake that has a longer shoreline than the state boundaries of Georgia.
Local relatives brought pop-up canopies, chairs, a huge picnic from Subway with sandwiches and coolers full of iced drinks. It was a beatuiful, nearly bug-free day, with kids plunking rocks in the lake, stomping around the rocky edge f the lake, in the water dragging up small pieces of rusty metal: wondering what the original purpose was, and wishing the jetsam could talk to share history of hands who had done the shaping, hard labor that had produced tools to support families. Cousins reminiscing, telling stories passed down from their parents about grandparents lives, work, families. Walking around in the little fenced cenetary, listening to people who have spent their entire lives putting down deep roots in Wilkes and McDuffie counties tell stories about the elders/those people who make me who I am, that I never knew.
Someone pondered why young people do not attend, and I surmise it is because you have to get to be 'of a certain age' before you can fully appreciate the treasure of family- young adults are raising kids, involved in activities who are not easily extracted for a weekend to travel for such gatherings. People who have the time and resources to travel are nore likely to also be of the age to want to be connected, willing to devote themselves to making the effort to associate with distant, lesser-known relatives. I have gotten to the place in time as I look back over my shoulder, and wish I had made that effort years ago when my parents were the ones who were going to east GA to meet with family. And lately (hopefully not too late?) realizing what a treasure/joy it is to meet, see, renew acquaintances with those folks of my heritage.
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