springtime is lovetime

sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love

Boy do we need some springtime, e.e. cummings.

We’ve spent this winter bundled and cold and we’ve spent a lot of time shoveling. Well, Hugh spent a lot of time shoveling. After each snow storm I went outside and helped shovel until the neighbor kids came out to play. Then I had better things to do like help the littles up and down our dirt pile sledding hill and attack Hugh with snowballs.

 

Although sometimes I just admired the snow from the back porch instead of venturing out in it.

 

Since today is the first day of Spring, I can finally begin to picture life in that backyard with some veggies growing in the corner and a couple of butts with a couple of beers in those adirondack chairs.

Once we rebuild and refinish them, that is.

The Weekend According to our iPhones

According to our iPhones, Hugh and I hung out with dogs this weekend.

But we did other things too.

We spent Friday night on my parents’ deck snacking, grooving, and catching up with visitors — Aunt B and Uncle Tim. Saturday morning I enjoyed a nice, flat run through all the neighborhoods surrounding ours, where I used to meet up with friends for bike rides, sleepovers, and kickball. It certainly took me back. We hit the Manassas farmers’ market followed by brunch at City Square Cafe, both right in Old Town. It’s always nice to show Hugh a beautiful day in my hometown. A visit to the grandparents, an afternoon cook out, a trip to Lowe’s, some home improvement chores, and Sunday dinner with a friend capped off the weekend.

Roots

My dad’s family is from Virginia and traces its lineage back to a man called Richard Lee “The Immigrant”, an ancestor our family shares with a number of historical figures. It’s been easy to learn our family history because most of it is covered in school — settling the colony of Virginia, fighting a revolutionary war, signing the Declaration of Independence, and leading a confederate army.

But the really important family history to me is the one that’s built piece by piece from stories of strawberry picking in May, a family of twelve in a tiny farmhouse, and a horse named Peanut. During our whirlwind Lee Family weekend, mom and dad took Hugh and me to see Mitchells, where some of those stories took place.

My great-grandparents attended Mitchells Presbyterian Church where they are now buried next to my great-grandmother’s parents.

Both passed away long before I came around, but when I walked up to their headstone they didn’t feel like strangers at all. I have heard plenty about Hattie, my great-grandmother. She gave birth to eleven children, one of which only lived for three weeks. She passed away when my grandpa, her youngest child, was 15 and five of his brothers were off serving in World War II. She and I share a birthday, which grandpa proudly reminds me of every year.

And Great-Granddaddy Lee — I’ve always pictured him being just like Grandpa, and sharing the same spirited approach to life that Grandpa and his siblings and his sons have. They can fiddle with anything to fix a problem — a suspended bird feeder to keep the squirrels away, a rolling sink to reuse the frame of a grill, a trap door in the deck to more easily alleviate leaf build-up. Great-Granddaddy Lee was also the first Hokie in the family, graduating from VPI’s agriculture program in 1914.

Some families spread out over the years, going where work and opportunity and life take them. And some may think we Lees lack a sense of exploration and adventure for having remained in Virginia since, well, the beginning of Virginia. But to me, living where my roots have been planted for so many generations has given me an invaluable appreciation for my family’s history and a constant connection to its past.

Last weekend Hugh and I got to walk around the churchyard where my great-grandparents shuttled their ten kids on foot from their home just across the railroad tracks, traipsed through the same grass, and looked out at the same simple rural sky.

And that is pretty cool.

FamiLee Weekend Part 2: The Reunion

My grandpa, my dad’s dad, is the youngest of 10 children. Those 10 Lee children over the years added spouses, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren to the family — over 100 of which gathered for the reunion last Sunday.

Traditionally, each family brought fried chicken and a side and/or dessert to add to the potluck. This year, Grandpa provided the chicken, called it Colonel Snooky’s, and showed up in costume.

This beautiful lady has seen many, many years of Colonel Snooky’s gimmicks.

Grandpa was one of seven boys, every one of them a character, whose stories of growing up in rural Virginia have always fascinated me. Seeing some of them together at the family reunions growing up, I had a feeling they never really outgrew their senses of humor and childhood mischief. I think that’s apparent in the smirks shared between Grandpa and his brother Briscoe — both in their 80s, weakened physically by health issues, reliant upon help to get around, yet when they shake hands they can’t help but crack smiles and likely jokes.

I wasn’t close enough to hear their conversation, but I imagine at least one of them was called “old man” in jest.

Elders are always first in line for food. Grandpa and his sister Lucy wasted no time.

After lunch my parents worked hard to herd the entire crew into a group photo. Because I have a thing for group photos. It was by far the hardest picture I have ever taken. Not to mention having to run the entire length of a gym within the 10-second self timer.

Yes, I regret not moving the tables out of the way, but I had naively thought we’d be able to cram everyone into less of a wide shot.

My favorite group photo ever is this one of our family — my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins’ spouses and kids (missing only a few!).