Two of Charlotte's kids come screaming around the corner soaked to the skin, with squirt guns blazing. Chee Chee is dripping wet and in hot pursuit. All attention vanishes from Willy and his new gal as Uncle Eric yells for them not to get him wet as Chee Chee darts between his legs. "Go give Uncle Fred a squirt an wake 'im up. It's probably time someone took 'im to the outhouse anyway."
Uncle Fred
I am sure that everyone in the world has an Uncle Fred. Our Uncle Fred, or Freddy, as everyone calls him, no one called him Frederic which was his real name, is a Bible thumpin' Baptist with a thick fake British accent.
When he was young he was tall, as skinny as a drink a water and as fast as a rabbit. Story has it that he was a message runner in the Great war running from one military operation to another with dispatches. He was brave as all get out, with lots of medals to prove it.
Freddy's in a wheelchair now and losing his marbles. He must be near 110 I reckon, half blind in one eye an can't hardly see out of the other, but every morning he gets up and pins his war medals onto his greying undershirt and sits beside the flag pole out front of his old-age home. Most of the time he sits and sleeps in the sun unless someone takes to talking to him in which case he pops to life and tells you one of his war stories.
He told me he served under General Eisenhower and General Grant when he fought the Boers at "Custard's" last stand. 'Cause I didn't have no real schooling like Bill I was just flabbergasted with amazement every time he told me a story. Like with Uncle Eric's stories it didn't matter if his stories were true or not. Just sitting with the old fart was enough to make the time pass for him and me.
* * *
The backyard all of a sudden seemed full of family and friendly faces. Four generations all standing around jawin'. What a marvelous sight. Ma has come out to the back patio a few times and reminded Pa to get back to the BBQ and stay there else the burgers 'll burn.
"I w i i i s h y o u w o u l d n 't" Pa mutters as he waves to Ma like she was a fly hovering over the uncooked burgers. "The burgers is fine Ma, stop yer fussing and get Eric a ginger-beer before he heads home with his jello salad." Pa inches back towards Uncle Eric and defiantly turns his back to the now smoking BBQ. A couple of minutes go by an Uncle Eric pokes Pa and reminds him that he's neglecting his duty. "Ma will skin me if I burn any of those burgers," Pa says as he dashes back like a neglectful sentry. He flips open the lid and tosses a couple of charred burgers to Chee Chee. Any of the conspicuous pieces that Chee Chee wouldn't eat he stuffs down through the grate into the fire just in time as Ma returns with a ginger-beer for Uncle Eric. "Pa you is doing a fine job as usual." Ma pats Pa on the back and, as she heads back to the kitchen, she looks over her shoulder, leans gently to Uncle Eric and says. "You keep 'im flipping Eric or I'll be blamin' you if he burns any." Ma shuffles off yelling behind her that she'll be back in a minute. "Don't go off none" she yells as the aluminum screen door hisses to a slow shut behind her.
Just as Ma is out a sight, Eugene, Pa's little brother, comes trundling around the corner carrying a big cooler with yet another watermelon perched on top. "Come and see my new car." Eugene yelps to Uncle Eric and Pa. With only a flinch of hesitation they both head off out of sight round front with most of the men folk trotting right behind 'm.
Uncle Eugene
Uncle Eugene, Gene, as most of us call him is a hefty, tall, handsome, man about twenty years younger than Pa, six three with a few extra pounds around the middle and still a full head of hair and a greying goatee. Auntie Pat, his wife, is always trying to get Uncle Eugene to eat salads instead of burgers and chips, beer and pizza, cookies and cake.
Uncle Eugene loves showing up every other year with a new car to show off to everyone. "She's a beaut" yelps Pa as he kicks the tires. "What year is she, how many kilometers she got on her? Not much rust and no dints, mighty sweet looking set a wheels, Gene. Let's take 'er for a spin." Before Pa can crawl in over the plush blue velvetine seats Gene starts on about how he dickered with the salesman and got 'im down a pretty penny, plus a full tank a gas.
Uncle Eugene was known for his powers of dickerin'. For Kimmy's wedding he was in charge of gettin' a hole mess a pop for the dance at the hall in Ancaster. He showed up with 110 bottles of pop that he simply paid the normal sale price for but boasted that he got the store to throw in a free watermelon. He has been teased about his powers of dickering ever since.
Picture this, Uncle Eugene's car is now filled to the brim with six laughing men carryin' on like they had never seen a used car before. Uncle Eugene hollers to Pa "You are a smart fella, what do you think I paid for her?" As they pull away over the gravel driveway, a sudden look of terror pales over Pa's face. He opens the door of the still-moving car and yells "Stop this bucket a bolts, I gotta get out!" He bolts out like a fourteen year old, tripping over his own feet as he tears toward the house without a word. With the gloom of fear gripped in his teeth, he dashes past the horseshoe pit and hurdles the sandbox in one stride. With a blur, he darts past the picnic table where Chee Chee is slobbering down a plate of salad that someone unstrategically left on the seat of their chair. Chee Chee flinches with guilt as Pa, with Olympian speed, turns the corner of the garage to see billows of smoke lapping up the vinyl siding, heaving like Indian smoke signals over the eaves into the clear blue sky.
With shrieks of terror, he pushes past Auntie Pat, bumping her slice of watermelon to the fresh-cut grass. Out of breath and heaving he comes face to face with the steely glare of Ma. She is standing there with a garden hose streaming water onto leaping flames. Pa, with the shrinking posture of a little boy quivers with his hands at his side as if he were standing in front of the school principal, can utter no words. With an almost smirk on her face, Ma turns to Pa and says in a calm but sarcastic voice, "Pa, stay at the BBQ an' don't wonder off none." With these words still forming in Pa's brain she turns the hose from the now steaming coals onto Pa who gasps for a breath without saying a word. Ma turns off the water and hands him the hose. In a calm voice Ma says, "Anyone want deviled eggs? They's Katie's best ever."
Pa stands there drenched from top to bottom with the drippin' hose dangling from his hand. Uncle Eric pokes Pa and says "Think you had better give that barby another squirt Bro? She's still kinda burning." Pa flinches into shivering consciousness and turns the hose back on the still hissing flames. "For a smart fella, I sure am stupid sometimes," Pa says as he kicks the picnic table. Chee Chee jumps with a yelp and scampers off. In the background Ma is heard saying to Auntie Pat "You seen my plate a salad? I put it down on my chair a minute ago when I came outside."
* * *
By now there must be near 15 cars and pickups lining the lane in the shade of the old oaks that run from the house to the mailbox. People are laughing and talking in little groups all over the place. The sun is shining, kids are running and swinging. The dogs are yelping and everyone is having a fine old time.
"Pa, here's more burgers for the barby. There's still more people arrivin' so I hope you can get that soggy thing lit again. Don't go walking off none."
Epilogue
The Drive Home
The sad part of every family reunion comes in the leaving. All the burgers and salads have been eaten, all of the paper plates have been picked up and burned in the bonfire, many licked clean by Chee Chee. All of the plastic cutlery and plastic glasses have been washed, dried and put away for next time. "Don't throw away none of them good plastics." Ma would remind us every year.
It seems like a heavy-hearted time, just Honey and me, starting the drive home back to the city and our little house. In the dark, now quiet, backyard hangs the double swing set, motionless. The big black rock has been put back on top of the garbage can. "Makes it 'coon proof" Pa would say. The crushed grass from all of the parked cars and pickups will linger as a sad reverie for a few days; lit by our headlights we turn to drive down the dark lane to the quiet, deserted country road.
Honey and I lament that even though we might see some of our family, perhaps as soon as the next day, it will not be before Christmas or longer that we would see the rest. There are no weddings planned for the near future and God forbid we get together again for another funeral anytime soon.
"Honey, you figure Pa turned off the gas on the barby?" I guess Ma would never forget such a detail. No matter how many times she might ask Pa, she'll have to get outa bed and check for herself. Hidden back in the recesses of Ma's memories there will always be that one time that two wieners and a half dozen chicken wings were found charred black and toasty warm the next morning. There will always be one mistake or another that Pa will never live down.
"I had a fine time as usual. What about you Honey? I think we had six watermelons this year. They must have been on sale at IGA. I might not have to eat for a week considering all the burgers and salad I had. Sure would have been nice if brother Chris could a come. I miss him. The price of gas makes it hard for him to take time off work and come all the way from Detroit. He promised Christmas though. I made him promise. I'll phone him in the morning and tell him what a fine time we all had and that everyone was asking after him.
Sure was nice that so many asked about Bear and said that they were sad that he passed on. We were all pretty thick with him. I remember the time he shot me with a BB rifle. He said that it was actually me that shot him. We argued and teased about that for years. I still miss him a lot. Him and Myrna. Such a shame they aren't with us anymore."
There is a long, quiet pause as the pickup truck hums south along #6 Highway towards the city. Driving in the dark is one of my favorite times to just be quiet and think. Honey and I hardly even need to say anything most of the ride home, but on the other hand it's a great time to spill the beans on something that has been turning over in the mind.
"Honey. I've been mulling something over for some time now. What do you think about me going back to school in the fall? I don't know for what and it's kinda late to be thinking about it now but somehow I feel it's time I moved forward. I'm feeling a bit stuck in the mud lately. I don't want to drive the milk truck for the dairy for ever and I don't want to be the chicken with his head and wing only part way out of the crate. That's all our family ever knows. Truckin' and farmin'. I just feel I'm a bit stuck in the mud lately."
The END
Biographical sketch of the author:
Richard Grove is known as the man of the 7 Ps - Poet, Potter, President, Photographer, Painter, Publisher, Public Speaker and sometimes person.
Richard was born into an artist family in Hamilton, Ontario, on October 7, 1953. With both parents artists and gallery owners he had a unique and early introduction into the world of visual art. His first experience with art was with photography when at the age of thirteen he purchased, with his father's enthusiasm and help, his first single lens reflex camera. Over the ensuing years, after leaving high school, he studied pottery at Mohawk College, design and pottery at Sheridan College, leading to his graduating in 1984 from the Experimental Arts Department at Ontario College of Art. In 1994 he graduated with honours from the Humber College, Arts Administration diploma course. In 2002 he returned to school to study computer courses relating to publishing.
Since graduating from Ontario College of Art, Richard has exhibited in more than twenty, solo and group exhibitions in Hamilton, Toronto, Boston, Calgary and Grand Prairie. He has his art in over thirty corporate collections across Canada, the most prominent of which are Esso Resources, Continental Insurance, Alberta Energy Corporation and Calgary District Hospital Group. These four companies alone represent a collection of almost thirty pieces of his work. Among the many corporate collections are six commissions of different styles and mediums ranging from pastel on paper to acrylic on canvas.
His photography and digital paintings have been on the cover of numerous books and periodicals. His book of digital paintings and poetry entitled "Sky Over Presqu'ile" was published in 2003, "Substantiality" a book of digital paintings was published in 2006 with a book of photography entitled "Oxido Rojo" released in the fall of 2006 followed by, in the same year, a book of photography entitled "terra firma".
Along with his visual art, Richard has been writing poetry seriously for decades and has had over 100 of his poems published in periodicals and has been published in over 30 anthologies from around the world. Including his poetry and photography he has 14 titles to his name. To mention only two of his poetry titles, his book entitled "Beyond Fear and Anger" was released in 1997 and his book published by Micro Prose, entitled "Poems For Jack" was released in 2002. He is also the author of numerous books with metaphysical themes including "The Mind-Body Connection", "Metaphysical Healing For a Secular Age" and "A Spiritual Study of Body". You can reach him at
[email protected] He is an editor and publisher and runs a growing publishing company Hidden Brook Press from which he publishes poetry contest anthologies and books of every genre for authors around the world. Aside from being a published poet, Richard has also exhibited his poetry in acrylic on paper paintings as well as in audio sculptures. For his poetry and prose, Richard has won a few small prizes and honourable mentions as well as a finalist spot in two contest anthologies. For his short stories he has won a top ten prize.
Richard is the founder of the Canadian Poet Registry, an archival information website that lists Canadian poets including: biographical information, their book titles and awards. One can view this website at - https://www.hidden brook press.com/Registry.htm. He was an active member of the Canadian Poetry Association for ten years serving on the executive for seven years including five as President. He is the founding president of both the CCLA (2004) - Canada Cuba Literary Alliance -
www.CanadaCubaLiterarAlliance.org and the CCLA Federation of Photographers (2006).
The CCLA has an international membership and boasts a literary journal called The Ambassador and a literary e-newsletter called The Envoy. He is the founding president of the Brighton Arts Council and the co-founder of the Purdy Country Literary Festival.
Richard has also been a public speaker MCing poetry readings and other literary events. He has been invited by a number of literary groups as Feature Speaker on various topics in Cuba, Germany, USA, New Zealand and Canada. He was also the Feature Author as publisher/poet in the October 1998 issue of "The Treasure Chest" published out of Virginia, USA and Feature Poet in "Poetry Canada" in 2004.
Richard now lives with his wife, also a writer, Kim, in Presqu'ile Provincial Park situated halfway between Toronto and Kingston, south of the 401 hwy. Their location is a constant inspiration for their work.
Books in the North Shore Series
Find full information at
- https://www.HiddenBrookPress.com/b-NShore.html
First set of five books
- M.E. Csamer - Kingston - "A Month Without Snow"
- Prose - ISBN - 978-1-897475-87-2
- Elizabeth Greene - Kingston - "The Iron Shoes"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-76-6
- Richard Grove - Brighton - "The Family Reunion" - 3rd Edition
- Prose - ISBN - 978-1-897475-35-5
- R.D. Roy - Trenton - "A Pre emptive Kindness"
- Prose - ISBN - 978-1-897475-80-3
- Eric Winter - Cobourg - "The Man In The Hat"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-77-3
Second set of five books
- Janet Richards - Belleville - "Glass Skin"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-01-0
- R.D. Roy - Trenton - "Three Cities"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-96-4
- Wayne Schlepp - Cobourg - "The Darker Edges of the Sky"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-99-5
- Benjamin Sheedy - Kingston - "A Centre in Which They Breed"
- Poetry - ISBN
- 978-1-897475-98-8
- Patricia Stone - Peterborough - "All Things Considered"
- Prose - ISBN - 978-1-897475-04-1
Third set of five books
- Mark Clement - Cobourg - "Island In the Shadow"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-08-9
- Anthony Donnelly - Brighton - "Fishbowl Fridays"
- Prose - ISBN - 978-1-897475-02-7
- Chris Faiers - Marmora - "ZenRiver Poems & Haibun"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-25-6
- Shane Joseph - Cobourg - "Fringe Dwellers" Second Edition
- Prose - ISBN - 978-1-897475-44-7
- Deborah Panko - Cobourg - "Somewhat Elsewhere"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-13-3
Forth set of five books
- Diane Dawber - Bath - "Driving, Braking and Getting out to Walk"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-40-9
- Patric Gray - Port Hope - "This Grace of Light"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-34-8
- John Pigeau - Kingston - "The Nothing Waltz"
- Prose - ISBN - 978-1-897475-37-9
- Mike Johnston - Cobourg - "Reflections Around the Sun"
- Poetry - ISBN - 978-1-897475-38-6