For the Love of Family

From early infancy, I was raised by my maternal grandparents, Scotty and Kay. They were both products of the Depression so they were resourceful, frugal, and old-fashioned. I had a quiet, happy childhood, though there was rarely money to spare. From them, I learned the importance of budgeting, making-do, and thrift. Waste not, want not were words to live by. But, more importantly than the practical aspects of life, I learned the importance of family.

Kay & Scotty Dean

When I was a little girl in the late 1960s and early 70s, family vacations were the highlight of the year. My grandparents would save a little each month to be able to make those trips every summer. So, each June, just after school got out, I would get to travel all over California, Oregon and Washington, visiting family and friends along the way and visiting every historic landmark my granddad could find. We camped in the shadow of Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Ranier, attended a clambake and went oystering with my Uncle Ken on Puget Sound, stood in awe of the beautiful Crater Lake, viewed Seattle from the top of the Space Needle, walked through some of the old Spanish missions in California, traveled on Highway 12 in the Valley of the Moon and spelunked through the Shasta Caverns. Glorious fun!

Little Me

Some of my very favorite childhood memories center around the times we spent with family in the San Joaquin Valley, which is part of the Central Valley of California. That was where my grandfather's family lived------practically the whole huge clan. Sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews.

My favorite spot was Uncle Harold and Aunt Billie's farm in Atwater. The property was very near former Castle Air Force Base and was edged with sweet-smelling eucalyptus trees. Because of the proximity to the air base, the huge jets would fly directly over the rooftop of the house as they came in for a landing. Needless to say, to a small child this was so terrifying to me. The powerful roar, the wind---if I was anywhere outside I would run to the nearest parked car and throw myself underneath, hands over ears, tears streaming down my face. As I got older, the fly-overs became a thrilling part of our visits, as my fears finally abated and I pretended I was the pilot flying those immense fortresses.

During the day, all of us children would walk to the canal, which was just a short trek down the country lane, to go swimming. We'd stop to pick the long grasses that grew beside the road and reach our hands through the fences to feed the neighbors cows. Our folks never worried about us because the older children always looked out for the younger ones-----that was just the way it was. After several hours of swimming and splashing, we'd tromp back to the big, sprawling house, tired, but happy. The grown-ups would have sandwiches and watermelon waiting for us on a big table in the yard and we'd eat until we could eat no more, washing it all down with tart lemonade. We would then spend the rest of the afternoon playing together or helping with chores, maybe riding the tractor or feeding the goats or chasing the chickens or climbing trees. Every now and again, just before dinner, the youngest children would be summoned over the fence of Grandaunt Billie's nearest neighbor for a tall glass of milk, still warm from the cow----what a treat that was!

My great grandparents, Lillian and Buford Dean (on the right) and my great-grandaunt and great-granduncle

After dinner, when everything was cleaned up and put away, all the kids would gather around, sitting with whoever had an empty lap. My granddad and grandma and all the granduncles and grandaunts would take turns telling stories well into the night-----tales from their own childhood, from the Depression and World War II, stories about the Dean Family. I learned about their parents, my great grandparents, who were long dead before I was ever born. I listened to battlefield stories that my Granduncle Howard would share, only after he'd had a few beers. Uncle Howard fought in the Battle of Iwo Jima during WWII, just a young man at the time. Because of injuries received during childhood, my grandfather couldn't fight in the war, but he instead worked at the Naval Shipyard at Mare Island in Vallejo. The shipyard built ships and submarines for the war effort and repaired damaged battleships, as well. My grandma told about growing up in a Catholic boarding school in Washington and the horrific shortage of pantyhose during the war. Grandaunt Billie always had a funny story to tell about the difficulties of raising 12 children.

Naval Shipyard at Mare Island

Those nights spent on the porch at the Botwright farm were so memorable, I can sometimes smell the eucalyptus and the fresh-mown hay and see, if only in my mind's eye, all of us children splashing in the canal. That was where I learned to love family traditions and where I decided that being a wife and mother was an honorable career choice. I will tell you that, after hearing all those stories and making numerous trips to the air base museum, I also entertained the notion of being an Air Force pilot, but, well, two out of three ain't bad!!

My grandparents are both gone now. Granddad passed away over 20 years ago and Grandma in 2006. Most of the uncles and aunts are gone, as well. The cousins are scattered all over the country and I only keep in touch with a few of them now. Several of them passed away at a young age. I miss the closeness that we all shared during those times so long ago. I miss the lazy days of summer spent with extended family, when all seemed right with the world.

My children had the great fortune of living near their paternal grandparents for a large portion of their life, along with several aunts, uncles and the cousins. They developed a keen sense of the importance that family plays in our lives as we grow and change and learn. They have developed their very own childhood memories that are stored in the deepest places of their hearts, waiting to be shared with their children one day.

My Family~~~2009

I look forward to the day when I can gather my grandchildren on the porch, grandchildren who are now just a far off thought, and pass on the stories of my childhood to their listening ears.

Do you have any lovely memories from childhood that you just haven't found time to pass on to your children or grandchildren? I encourage you to make the time~~~you'll never regret that you did.

"The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together."~~~Erma Bombeck