I drove almost 2000 miles to get to the Family Reunion in the Barada Hills.
We all gathered at the old family farm—the Funny Farm—where our kinfolk have lived for many generations.
Our father was there in the farmyard, reigning over his unruly clan with a certain pride. “Straighten your shoulders, now!” Poppa said to everyone, “You don’t want to look stoop-shouldered like your Great Aunt Bertha.”
“That’s right!” my sister said. She frowned. “And whatever you do…” she added. “Don’t step in the chicken poop! It’s everywhere.!” She’s the Sophisticate of the family, you see. She might wear overalls, at times—but they’re always neat and clean. “Those dang chickens!” she said.
We had a couple of newcomers to the Funny Farm, this year—future sons-in-law…Men who were uninitiated to the ways of the Clan. They watched and listened with trepidation, uncertain as to what would happen next.
They had good reason to be nervous. Continue reading