Buffalo Gal

As I am not one to wear white shoes anyway, Labor Day was nothing more than a three-day weekend for all my Southern soujourn. I'd forgotten what a clear marker of change it represents in a working town with real seasons.
The kids go back to school this week and summer took a graceful bow. The calendar says we have a few weeks left of the season and the weather today looks just as good as yesterday, but we've said our goodbyes.
It was a weekend of rituals at the cottage. The last 50/50 raffle, the last cottage owners' meeting, the last duck race of the season. Most of the boats were already out of the water when we arrived, chased out earlier in the week by the threat of Katrina's remnants.
On Monday morning, the men (ranging from grade school to senior discount) assembled at the creek front to dissemble the docks. It had been more than 35 years since I watched the ritual, my cousin Janie's husband now playing the active organizer role of my grandfather, my cousin Lee's son playing the in-the-water muscle role I remember belonging to Lee. Rookie Charlie teamed with Andrew, the youngest, in working out the pylons and carrying the dock sections to shore. The work went quickly with eight men. The creek immediately looked blank and toothless.
All weekend we gathered with the others, eating, drinking and recapping the summer. The food was as delicious as the stories.
A neighhbor's picnic featured fresh, steamed and baked clams. Charlie had his first raw clams while my cousin Kirk opened dozens with swift, sure, familiar movement. With his brother Lee working next to him, it was impossible not to see the best of their late father shining through both men.
I was up very early Monday, sitting alone on my screened porch wanting the day to last as long as possible. I assumed everyone else was still sleeping until I saw Lee walking to the creek with a large mug of coffee. He paused to say "Good morning" and we ended up talking for more than an hour about similarities neither of us would have imagined between his job as a union master electrician and mine in media/marketing.
The cottage invites unexpected and easy exchange. I didn't know what I was missing. I do now.
Memorial Day can't come soon enough.

Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2005-09-06 7:16 AM The end of summer As I am not one to wear white shoes anyway, Labor Day was nothing more than a three-day weekend for all my Southern soujourn. I'd forgotten what a clear marker of change it represents in a working town with real seasons. The kids go back to school this week and summer took a graceful bow. The calendar says we have a few weeks left of the season and the weather today looks just as good as yesterday, but we've said our goodbyes. It was a weekend of rituals at the cottage. The last 50/50 raffle, the last cottage owners' meeting, the last duck race of the season. Most of the boats were already out of the water when we arrived, chased out earlier in the week by the threat of Katrina's remnants. On Monday morning, the men (ranging from grade school to senior discount) assembled at the creek front to dissemble the docks. It had been more than 35 years since I watched the ritual, my cousin Janie's husband now playing the active organizer role of my grandfather, my cousin Lee's son playing the in-the-water muscle role I remember belonging to Lee. Rookie Charlie teamed with Andrew, the youngest, in working out the pylons and carrying the dock sections to shore. The work went quickly with eight men. The creek immediately looked blank and toothless. All weekend we gathered with the others, eating, drinking and recapping the summer. The food was as delicious as the stories. A neighhbor's picnic featured fresh, steamed and baked clams. Charlie had his first raw clams while my cousin Kirk opened dozens with swift, sure, familiar movement. With his brother Lee working next to him, it was impossible not to see the best of their late father shining through both men. I was up very early Monday, sitting alone on my screened porch wanting the day to last as long as possible. I assumed everyone else was still sleeping until I saw Lee walking to the creek with a large mug of coffee. He paused to say "Good morning" and we ended up talking for more than an hour about similarities neither of us would have imagined between his job as a union master electrician and mine in media/marketing. The cottage invites unexpected and easy exchange. I didn't know what I was missing. I do now. Memorial Day can't come soon enough. Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top