Reminiscing

I'm going to deviate from my "normal" range of topics again and reminisce a bit. We just had a death in the family, and it seems that when death hits close to home, reflection is almost certain. At least that's the way it seems to work in my case.

The lady who passed away was my great-aunt and one of the kindest people you could ever meet. She was warm, generous, and always loved having people visit the property she and her husband (who is thankfully still with us) own. She was rather indulgent with the children in the family, and I cannot ever remember her saying an unkind word or being stern with anyone. Ever since my grandmother died six years ago, she became a kind of surrogate grandmother. She was in her early nineties when she left us, so she lived a long, happy life--but that doesn't seem to make it any easier to say goodbye.

When I think of her, I can't help but think of the land and house that she called home for longer than I've been around. It's quite a large piece of land with a house that hasn't changed at all. Years ago, and I'm not sure if this was even before my time, it was dubbed The Ranch; however, there was never a horse or cow or other kind of livestock to be found on it, at least as long as I can remember. The only critters that have lived on the land are rattlesnakes. And probably whatever they found to eat. Instead, part of the land played host to the Campground that was set up right next to the river that runs through the property. Both the Campground and the river provided many hours of summer fun when I was growing up. I remember setting off fireworks for Independence Day in one of the natural clearings that was surround by trees and dry brush. Not the safest of endeavors, and I'm rather surprised we didn't start a fire with a stray spark and burn the trees down--but it was such fun for us kids. Nowadays, the Campground is feeling its age and is overgrown as nature has slowly taken over, but we can still see the old water pipeline and electrical wires that run from the living area of The Ranch; the river is still there too of course, although it has changed its path over the years as rivers are wont to do and we have to walk a little further to get to the water's edge.

Aside from the Campground and river, a good chunk of the land was covered with orchards of plum trees. Zio (my great-uncle) was in the prune business for many years. We would go exploring in the far areas of the orchard, out to the pump house and beyond where we would hand-feed the neighbor's sheep over the fence lining The Ranch's boundary. In the suburbs we don't have to be wary of rattlesnakes, but in the orchards at The Ranch looking out for them became second nature--none of us wanted to get bitten, and we had a few close calls that reinforced vigilance. Now, the orchards are bare ground but for a couple of old apple trees that line the drive and a line of olive trees that were put in a few years ago. It took me awhile to get used to not seeing all the trees. There have been a few other big changes since I was young--a second house was built for my cousins to live on The Ranch, and a large vegetable garden was added--but some of The Ranch has stayed the same. It even smells the same, the smell of summer heat and river and a kind of tree that I can never remember the name of.

Zia (my great-aunt) was such a part of that place, and was a regular character in the memories that we made every summer. She would walk down to the Campground from the house to join our festivities. In more recent years, we would have big family dinners of good Italian food outside in the carport and finish the evening listening to my mom play folk songs on her guitar. Zia loved hearing Mom play. To me, she and Zio are the heart of the land. With her gone, I anticipate that the feeling of the place will change. Dear, dear Zia, you will be missed more than you can know.