Remember Always

Out on the deck late last night, Tom and I gazed at the stars, finding the Big Dipper and a faintly visible Little Dipper. The night was lovely, with a refreshing breeze that was reminiscent of the day's warmth. I was suddenly filled with a rush of memories of my father -- how he would take us up to the roof of our summer cabin as children and we would lay on our backs marveling at the beauty of the stars.  He would point out the Big Dipper, explaining how to find the North Star and from there, the Little Dipper.  My father was a fascinating storyteller and always had Native American legends or poems about each constellation that kept us in rapt attention.

Memorial Day weekend was always our first big picnic at the cabin, when extended family would join us for cookouts, hikes in the woods, campfires with s'mores and when it got dark, the
ever-exciting "torch walk". My dad would lead all the children on a "scary" walk through the woods and point out the "gnome trees", telling his signature stories to make everything seem mysterious and magical. 

During the day, one of our favorite activities was hiking to the pine woods, which involved walking through the farmer's field at the edge of the woods for what seemed like miles (my dad would often carry me on his shoulders when I was very young).  Once there, we were enchanted by the soft energy and lovely scent of the tall pines as we strolled through a path that led to a large open meadow where we would often build a fire and cook hotdogs for lunch.

On July 4th, there were fireworks and sparklers, sleeping bags under the stars and ghost stories by campfire late into the night.  My mother and I would plant flowers and have long chats on the deck in the early morning, when the younger children were still asleep.  So many memories... 

Our cabin on the hill still stands; my brother recently put on a new roof and a pretty little deck near the fire pit.  Last week, we gathered the families for an appropriately distanced outdoor picnic to say goodbye to my brother and his wife as they move to their retirement home in Kentucky.  We dug a hole under the beautiful shade tree that my parents planted as a sapling long ago and buried some of each of their ashes as I read a quote by Kahlil Gibran:

"Mourn me not with the color of black, but dress in color and rejoice with me...talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts, close your eyes and you will see me with you forevermore..."

Whoever it is that you remember on this Memorial Day, whether it is someone who died in battle or fought bravely and returned from a war to build a rich life, as my father did, trust that they will live on in your heart and can be recalled in memory forever.