We’re headed to South Dakota this weekend. Some of you who have looked at the schedule know that I’ll be doing an event in Rapid City on Sunday afternoon, but the first part of the weekend will be devoted to an Anderson Family Reunion in the Black Hills. The last family reunion I attended was in 1984. This was long before I met Bill. My sister and I drove there with my two kids in the back seat of my 1978 Cutlass Supreme Brougham which, unfortunately, came to grief in Yellowstone Park when the automatic transmission died. I suspect it was a somewhat delayed after effect of my move from Arizona to Seattle, dragging that loaded U-Haul behind the car.

We stalled out somewhere inside the park. Our last view of bison was from the front of a tow truck. We spent the next three days stuck in West Yellowstone where, if you’ll pardon my saying so, there wasn’t much happening, but that’s how long it took to get parts. Once the car was repaired, we went on to the reunion which, as it happens, was also held in the Black Hills.

At that event all of my mother’s sisters and her brother were still alive. The uncles sat on the porch in a row of rocking chairs, communing with one another. My favorite photo from that event is one I took of all the photographers lined up to take a picture of our part of the family.
A lot of the people who attended that reunion aren’t around anymore. My parents, of course, are both gone as are my mother’s brother, Glenn, and her other sisters–Alice, Edith, and Toots. Their spouses have all passed away as well.

This spring, the last of my mother’s sisters, my Aunt Kelly, turned 100. She’s the official guest of honor, but this year I expect to be one of the generation laying claim to those front porch rocking chairs. At the 1984 reunion, I was still considered one of “the kids.” This time I’m not.

The last time my mother attended a family reunion, she went all-out-Evie when someone had the unmitigated nerve to suggest that when it came time to serve the “hot dishes” the children should go first. Evie simply put her size eight foot down. “No way José! When I was little,” she told them, “I had to wait in line until all the grownups were served. Now that I’m 80, I’m going first, and the kids can come after me.” Which is exactly what happened.

This time around when it comes time for the potluck, we’ll let Aunt Kelly go first with my sister’s and my generation right behind her, but I’m guessing we’ll both be missing our mother right about then.

Yes, Evelyn Allegra Anderson Busk, we still miss you.

Every single day.