well, we've concluded the first segment of our work hard (the last three years)/ play hard (the last five days) regimen, just departing this morning from evergreen farm, the site of many family reunions throughout the course of my life. though it has an empty barn, evergreen farm is now just the title of what's become a family compound in the mountains of elkview, west virginia. these 130 acres hold so many precious childhood memories of mine, when summers stretched on forever with day after hot, lazy day of wading in the creek, pressing wildflowers, collecting bark and shale, making crafts, picking blueberries and perfecting cannonballs. there i learned to swim, to swallow pills, to remove ticks, to mitigate poison ivy, to decipher a deep southern twang and other such useful life skills, as well as to revere nature, the quiet beauty of heavy mist clinging to the mountains in the morning and the angry majesty of a midsummer storm.
while all the sights, sounds, and smells of evergreen farm maintain a lingering sense of nostalgia in my heart, my fondest memories include our rollicking fourth of july family reunions. my mother's side of the family celebrated america's birthday frequently on evergreen farm, giving three generations time to relax, catch up, nurture new relationships and reinforce those long in the making. in an age preceding social media, somehow those annual weekends together provided enough warmth and connectedness to keep us bonded closely until the next year. now an adult, i realize how fortunate i am to share this relationship with quite a number of rahmans.
as my generation aged however, these gatherings became harder to orchestrate. with increasing obligations and commitments throughout the summer, our reunions really floundered. when one of my mom's brothers fell gravely ill, we made a big rally to reinstate the tradition and succeeded with 100% attendance in 2006. but that was the last time. for the last three years our nuclear family has been out of commission with david's unforgiving work schedule, and this year the timing just wasn't right being in the middle of our move, not to mention the thought of managing the two brave explorers on 130 acres of poisonous plants and animals, a large pool and larger creek, and too many sharp corners, stairs, and uncovered outlets to count did not strike me as incredibly relaxing. not a single other member of my generation planned to go; it just didn't seem worth the stress.
then, two weeks ago, something peculiar happened. i'm not sure who started the movement, but i began receiving emails. pacts of sorts between pairs of cousins and aunts and uncles. if you go, i'll go. if she goes, he'll definitely go. and suddenly, everyone was going but us. seeing as it's the last time we'll be driving distance from west virginia and that we both had the time off, our previously insurmountable obstacles seemed a little silly and uptight. the timing could be better, but who knows how many years might pass before another opportunity like this comes along. so, the chicagoans (including uncle eric and aunt emmy) got onboard.
our situation in chicago has led to my kids getting rather spoiled and rarely inconvenienced. no areas in their home are off limits, nap and meal times are never compromised, they never ride in the car, they are spared most discomforts like extremes in temperature and bug bites...that all came to a screeching halt this week. in between two long days of driving, we learned that a raging storm had knocked out the power in greater west virginia with no repair in sight. but we had already come so far, we couldn't back out. and so, while the rest of the population drove out, we willingly drove in, babies and all, to a fema-declared disaster zone.
driving the last stretch into evergreen farm, the damage was impressive. trees much older than any of us lay strewn about like spilled toothpicks, branches ripped off, some split down the center or completely uprooted. power lines drooped and dangled at every turn. but, time stands still at evergreen farm. once we arrived and all were together again, it was like no time had passed or space had grown between us (after a few minutes to catch up on the last six years). with temperatures creeping above 100 degrees, days were spent in or near the pool or under the covered deck doing crafts. a well intended volleyball net stood erected and neglected, the heat too oppressive to exert any additional energy. we ate, drank, and slept in a massive free for all, candles and lanterns alit, with assembly lines scrubbing away at hundreds of dishes in the absence of a dishwasher.
just like any current endeavor in our lives, our time in west virginia was definitely dictated to a degree by the little ones, minding how much time they spent in the pool under the sun, sticking around their quarters during naps without power for baby monitors, skipping out on nightly group activities so we'd be rested to rise early with them the next morning. but with many extra, willing hands on deck, childcare responsibilities were far less daunting than i anticipated. they delighted in bean's raspy voice and wild curls that became tight, perfect ringlets in the humidity, reese's happy face and senseless babbling. they patiently weathered bean's tantrums, which have become more the norm than the exception.
and that is the beauty of family, a living, breathing, evolving organism. as the second oldest cousin, i spent several of these celebrations presiding over the many babies, experiences that surely contributed to my confidence as a parent. now my baby cousins were watching over their baby cousins, shepherding them through the magic of this place, rediscovering the childlike wonder of open fields, roads without cars, the freedom to run and run and run until your legs can't carry you anymore. 
we watched deer scamper across our path up into the mountains, fished a snapping turtle out of the pool, literally stumbled over a five foot snake and threw stick after stick into the creek for the dogs to leap in after. we dined nightly to a symphony of bullfrogs and a light show of fireflies. we weathered more angry summer storms and fallen trees, and watched the late morning heat melt the dawn mist clinging to the mountaintops.
in spite of all that has changed, all those who have joined our family and those who have left it too early, the feeling and the love remains the same, the traditions upheld. my husband, after weathering this three year storm with me, feels like an extension of myself. to see him playing dominoes with my cousins, gorging himself on tortellini and shrimp scampi, emerging like the rest of us, sunburned and blanketed in enough bug bites to look like the last remaining survivors of smallpox, warmed my heart and made the world seem right. he knows now in a way he did not before where and who i come from. my uncle's face when he came home from work to find 20 people spread across four generations floating in his pool, that childlike, uninhibited happiness, that is what evergreen farm is all about.it is not what we say, but what we do that unites us. after four days of sharing beds, bathrooms and clothes, braving the wild rapids together, slapping bugs off of each other, rubbing in sunscreen and apparently nonfunctional insect repellant, navigating the darkness by candlelight and lantern, our goodbyes were heartfelt and earnest. promises were made for more frequent visits, particularly with the higgses tipping the west coast scale to the majority.
the road leading in to evergreen farm is one i have walked hundreds of times, a sight that filled me with immense anticipation as a child on the way in, and great remorse on the way out, but always a sense of comfort that i'd be there again. now my children have had their first few walks down this road, one where i know every bend of the creek, every cave, every stretch of lawn. i wonder when their next walk there will be. 
when i was young and still frequently wondering aloud how far we were from our final destination on road trips, passing the west virginia state line was a thrilling moment, only miles then from summer bliss. the sign took many iterations over the years, welcome to some combination of wet, wild, wonderful west virginia. this place is all of those things and so much more. most precious are these memories, another snapshot in time of this family reunited in this place. cheers to another fourth of july, and may six more years not pass before we see each other again.
