Clog dancing in my mind

Today was one of those soft early spring days that make me nostalgic. I don't know if it's the fecundity of this time of year or the melancoly of the skies, but this is the time of year when I miss my parents most. Growing up, this was always the best part of the year. We were getting ready for our big Easter banquet at Morris Bryant and annual trip to put flowers on the graves of all the family members who have gone before us. We were setting out the garden and planning for the reeactments we would go to. Dad would take me out to Fort Ouiatenon to throw tomahawks on a Saturday afternoon.

I live about 5 hours by car from all those graves and that continuity. The number of people in my adult life who share memories of my parents is growing smaller every year. It's down to my brother, my aunt and uncle, and a high school friend I keep in touch with. In some ways my life is similar to that I had as a child. I went out to the garden today and prepared the bed for my carrots and radishes. I could nearly hear my mother teaching me how to amend the soil as I shoveled manure on to the bed.

When the rain became too hard for me to stay outside, I came in to do some inside chores. I found a bluegrass station on the xm channels directv carries, and I've been listening to it as I work. My dad was the kind of guy who owned both a banjo and a wash-tub bass at different points in his life. I watch my children dancing to the music and am carried back to warm summer nights in Battleground, clogging to music at the Fiddlers'.

Spring is about continuity; the earth wakes from her winter slumber to start a new cycle of life. My children are part of me, and of my parents, and my grandparents in the long chain of life. As I pass down the traditions that were passed down to me, I bring back the spectre of my childhood and the loved ones on the other side of forever. I thank God for the opportunity to keep my parents alive with me in the little things, to be reminded of my rich hertiage as I pass it on.