My House Full of ‘Critters’

For anyone who had a family reunion this summer- you know the planning, travel, accommodations and, frankly, a tad of dread, that comes with it. Seeing relatives that you haven’t seen in years plus meeting new ones is a bit daunting.

Mine was in Northern Michigan the last week of July for 250 plus family members, in- laws, step children, cousins and significant others.

My own rustic, wood shingled home deep in the woods housed 16 for the weekend, and that didn’t even include all my siblings, nieces and nephews. Some found a stash of acorns at the foot of their bed when turning down the sheets- a hungry squirrel’s winter stash. He would be returning to no rations, making him extremely angry, but we will be long gone. Some ‘camped’ on the rocky beach, slept in hammocks, shared bunk beds and some slept in sleeping bags around my late Dad’s elaborate electric train set. The funniest quote of the weekend was from my niece who complained that some empty boxes in the closet were ‘moving and squeaking’ during the night. The pleasures of Northern Michigan in its full glory.  Sadly ‘Bob’ the bobcat, who has made my property his own, didn’t get a sighting this time. He was probably in the deep woods waiting for the crowd to clear out.

What made it especially difficult for my son and me, was that we live in London. So the actual voyage consisted of two flights (one over the Atlantic) and a 7 hour drive from Chicago to our destination. Total 24 hours. Then there was the 7 hour time change, which your body doesn’t even get close to being use to, before it’s time to leave.

I found myself up at 5 am and doing my daily jog down a dirt road in the pitch dark. I did have several interesting encounters which, may or may not have included, a coyote, wolverine ( it was dark but there were red eyes and snarls) skunk, hedgehog, porcupine, deer and several bunnies-not to mention every insect in the area forming a cloud in front of my face. That morning I found a nest of chipmunks in the trunk of my car.

One morning as I (always thankful to be alive after my ‘wildlife’ jog) returned at 7 am, I was met by a family member with a disapproving expression. He proceeded to tell me I had left the door open and the light on, which had attracted a swarm of bugs who had invaded his breakfast. I claimed the wind opened the door, although had to admit to turning a light on in the pitch dark!

Mostly we all lived in harmony as everyone had a diffferent schedule, with the majority of youngsters not showing themselves until noon. I was by then, long gone for my daily tennis lesson- 8 miles away (which is the closest form of civilisation!)

It really wasn’t until the end of the weekend that the ‘family activities’ began in earnest.

First, was a sunset cruise starting in the historic ‘Fishtown’ around Lake Michigan.  Everyone had to wear a name tag which was colour coated to identify which branch of the family you descended from, for identification purposes.

Since I am a teetotaler - these events had me nursing one Diet Coke, while my son kept appearing with armfuls of canned ‘White Claw’ cocktails for other (often underage in America) cousins, to get the party started and conversation flowing!

Luckily I had hired a lovely local couple to come to the house to make meals, so after the boat ride ended- a feast of hamburgers and salads were to be found and devoured with great appreciation, with not a crumb left.

I found solace other than my ‘pitch dark dirt road jogs’, in the freezing waters of Lake Michigan. This Great Lake is a major shipping lane for cargo ships and freighters from Detroit to Chicago, not to mention Canada, carrying iron ore, coal and limestone, so, of course, it is not the cleanest. Sadly a small cut on my knee became infected and I had to abandon my Great Lake swims. The smaller lake in the area, Lake Leelandau, is used for boating activities. Even the little lake had its ‘dangers.’  ‘Swimmer’s Itch,’ which is a euphemism to describe tiny organisms (allegedly from Zebra clams) buroughing into your skin, causes a nasty rash which forms after being in the water. I’ve tried immediately showering and roughly toweling after a swim, but to no avail, the rash still appears. Some hearty souls brave the water with parasites, and over the years I have too- but this summer I didn’t dare make a debut on the little lake after being driven out of the Great Lake, nursing my infected knee. That didn’t curtail speeding around the little lake with the ‘pedal to the metal’ and wind in my hair.

One of the most entertaining activities of the family reunion was the ‘Adult/Child Family Tennis Tournament!’  My son and I are good players and considered adults, so we were paired with, not as ‘tennis experienced’ youths.  For example, the 5 year old daughter of a cousin who hasn’t had a tennis racket in her hand ever, was my opening partner.  I tried to stay cheery and say ‘good try’ as she swung and missed most balls coming her way. After losing the best of 5 games to the opposition of a similar make up, the losers stay on the court and the winners move up a court and split- meaning I had a new partner; another child of one of my cousins who swung but made no ball contact, all over again. No matter, it was all in good fun.

This went on for 5 rounds and the person who had won the most games- wins the tournament. I was surprised when one of my  nieces did, in fact, win the tournament- good for her!  She was considered a ‘child’ and found some adult ‘ringers’ as partners.

‘I’ve only played tennis once before’ she admitted gleefully holding her trophy. My son and I, use to winning these events, slumped off having won only a few games with our inexperienced partners. It was great fun though, and we met several new family relations!

During this festive tournament we wore our family encrusted bright blue caps and, of course, name tags to identify which ancestor we descended from.

Two huge dinners were the highlight of the weekend. One took place under an awning on the top hill of a farm overlooking Lake Michigan owned by the son of a second cousin, with a gorgeous view. The second, in a huge, barn off Lake Leelandau owned by the late cousin of my grandmother. Both were beautiful and authentic. The latter was held in a large bright red barn with a prominent American flag-pure ‘Americana.’ The floors were wooden and warped from decades of horses, so I made my way around the event gingerly.

A professional photographer was hired, and upon arrival, we gathered in to family groups to have a photo. These were generally small, just including one nuclear family. The second night, came the real ‘shebang’- the event everyone was waiting for-the entire family photo!! My large, extended family officially started two generations ago and are now gone, so under the light of Northern Michigan setting sun, the first  grouping, the 3 rd generation (my parents) of the family- which sadly, this year, seamed to have shrunk since the last reunion 5 years ago, (my Dad included) had their photo taken. Then the 4 th (my) generation, which included spouses (mine firmly stayed in Europe) lined up for a photo. Then the final and 5 th generation, my son’s, gathered smiled for the camera. With all the relatives, this was no easy feat. Finally, the entire extended family gathered for a historic documentation of the reunion. The whole process was chaotic with little kids escaping, people falling in and out of photo range and the photographer, on top of a ladder, shouting orders and losing patience.

There was quite a bit of undignified jousting to take front and center stage for the historical photo of the family gathering. After a few tasteful shoves, I ended up in the middle, front and centre.  I’m not proud of this.

For both events, the food at the buffet ran out early, which led to some, already ragged tempers, having a meltdown. Since I didn’t start at the bar, I got in the enormous food line as soon as it opened (after photo taking,) so at least got a burger and coleslaw. Those who dallied over drinks, found themselves with only hamburger buns and mustard. Which just led to more drinking!

There was a lively country band all wearing cowboy hats at the Red Barn dance. Admittedly, it was a tad too loud as I couldn’t hear one word being said, from the time they started their set. Wearing semi-authentic cowboy boots, I stumbled around the barn floor with my nieces and nephews doing the ‘Footloose’ grapevine (badly) and laughing at my son’s attempt to teach his Midwestern cousins a ‘Scottish Reel’ he had learned in London. There was much laughter and ‘Dad Dancing’ to be had and even a ‘family rap’ written by my cousins that was witty and fun. The tag line was a little dicey but in fact- true and groaningly funny.

It all ended in a bit of a tipsy mosh pit on the Barn Floor, with several clumsy trips to the port-a-potties, which were outside on a downhill slope. Several accidental slips occurred, including myself.

There was much ‘joie de Vivre’ and cousins from different generations and different parts of the country meeting for the first time. You didn’t have to know anyone’s name,  just refer to them as ‘cousin’ and you would be correct everytime.

During the weekend there was also a tour of the local wineries (including the ‘Ciccone Vineyard’ owned by Madonna’s father), a walk through ‘Indiana Woods,’ the area our ancestors had homes and a hearty and athletic afternoon of beach games on the shore of Lake Michigan. One game included the dizzying task of placing one’s forehead on a baseball bat and spinning around for a minute, then attempting to run in the sand to your teammate.  Many just stumbled, crablike into the lake. I wisely chose to cheer from the sidelines.  Hilarious!

My great grandfather, Frank C. Ball and his four brothers created the glass home-caning ‘mason jar’ with a vacuum seal during WWII in Muncie, Indiana. It was the best way of preserving food at the time, and still is. It has the word ‘Ball’ in cursive, diagonal writing on the side of the original light blue tinted jar. My grandmother, Rosemary, was his youngest daughter. She married Alexander Bracken and their oldest child, Frank was my father. The family rap song’s ending line was -  “We’re Ball’s y’all!”  It’s true, we’re all proudly related to these extraordinary men in some way.

All were there to celebrate the brilliance of the founders of Ball Corporation, catch up with relatives and meet new ones. We felt lucky to be part of this amazing, extensive family and a jolly weekend was had by all!

The End