day 1

early rise, pack, clean, work
gram and bakka off with kids
time feels longer, gentler
quiet, like it once was, years 1-11
missed the kids and talked of them often, in that easy, joking, referential way
between uninterrupted kisses, understanding we’d hold their hands,
know their needs before they asked
in just a few hours.
the drive
wind through windows, old dog ears flopping, even with giant mountain horizon
talk of politics, forest fires, potlucks and trivial tidbits we’d forgotten to share,
thoughts left floating, waiting, needing the moment when
we needn’t say just one minute honey
arrival, slow drive down the gravel of my childhood
same kids, different generation but the same still
time stopped in the way we all want time to stop
family

day 2
my aunt died last year
a memorial, her place near the flathead river
i see memories in every branch bowing with wind, every touch between kin
we are all kin
these people, this place
two people, my grandma and grandpa, started it all
and never get to know how it panned out
or maybe they were there
my aunt’s two daughters. grown, awesome, with families
tears, hugs
and a river runs through it

day 3
lake, dock
sunscreen, laughter, hot, cousins
running, sharing, swimming, jumping
more family arrives and then more
wished andy was still there
storytelling about this place, the very place they sat
60 years ago when they were knobbly, bruised kneed and sun-slapped happy
it hasn’t changed
but i see laugh lines, the next generation
and the one after that
live piano music by whomever is moved to play
little girl uninhibited, purely gorgeous dance choreography
gin and tonics with my cousin who is my sister
our four blond girls play go fish, talk about sandwiches, fairies and crawdads
bony, dirty limbs under our feet as we wash, stir, chop our meal for 18 of our people
campfire, same as every night; always feels exciting
my heart could burst with contentment

day 4
to flathead lake
to the home and wide weathered dock of my childhood memories
my dad lost his wedding ring here 41 years ago exactly
yellow jackets hovering
as they did that day when he and his friends
dove
dove
dove
they’d seen where it landed and it was right there
but not
deceptively deeper
depthless
mama? tell me the story again of bakka’s ring
in between sips of cold beer, reapplication of sunscreen
storytelling by my dad and his childhood friends
many daring and dangerous tales that i am finally mature enough to hear
or, more likely: this day, this space, this company created the perfect storytelling vortex
leaps into impossibly teal water
the breaststroke through archaic glacial melt