LETTERS FROM HOME: LIVES AND TIMES CAPTURED BETWEN THE LINES IN A BREADBOX

July 8, 1999

Dear Patty

In a tin breadbox at DC's parents' cabin resides a diary departing visitors are asked to recount their experiences in. Sometimes the writer is a guest, often a member of the family. If DC's father is doing the telling the account is very "Dragnet." "Two soft-shell turtles, 13-inch small mouth bass. Lightning." If niece Darci has laid the dairy before her on the red-and-white checked tablecloth, the tale might come to a serpentine conclusion pages later and will burst with glory and good will.

The diary dates to 1943. Now in its second volume, it chronicles the occasion when DC's father first brought her mother to the river before they were married. Later their first-born, DC, makes her initial appearance.

DC's grandmother, now deceased, always recorded the menus.

More recent is a passage written after DC's brother, Paul, was bitten by a copperhead he'd decapitated half an hour earlier. To walk by that woodpile still distresses DC.

The diary scribblings are a shorthand history of a family. Knowing them now, personally or through stories, their personalities breathe between the lines.

The van we drove out to the cabin on the Castor River last weekend was loaded with lumber, flowering plants and fireworks, including a special pyrotechnic device we expected would thrill her music-loving family. But you never know about things that go bang.

Lucy found something very dead to roll in, as is her custom. The high heat and humidity bothered Hank. He couldn't sleep, perhaps was a bit agitated because we forgot to bring his Prozac. About 3 a.m. one night he made a prolonged ruckus and Lucy joined in. Hank is known to growl at an owl's hoot but we hadn't heard any owls around. He finally quieted but I don't know if he slept.

When the subject of barking arose at breakfast the next morning, DC's father mentioned that he'd been down the in basement about that time looking for a frog gig.

DC's mother prepared breakfasts of eggs, sausage, coffee cake, bagels, bananas, cantaloupe, Bing cherries, orange marmalade and a rhubarb compote impossible to get enough of. After that we often needed a nap.

DC and I bathed in the cold river because a hot bath was unbearable.

One day I sought out civilization in Piedmont, a town where a rash of UFO sightings occurred in the '70s. The phenomenon was studied by a university professor who concluded that plenty of things were going on there that are not normal.

DC burned herself slightly on some fireworks she prematurely detonated before our big show. I told her about the Roman candle that backfired in my hand when I was small. That night, the Roman candles were the only fireworks that wouldn't light.

Only the five of us, including Paul, were at the cabin. On leaving, I was handed the diary. I wrote: "July 3-5, 1999 -- The heat index supposedly reached 107 degrees this weekend. A snake got caught in the minnow trap. Both Paul and the snake survived. DC supervised the installation of a swing up at the pond. She also planted two butterfly bushes. Sam played golf in Piedmont. Hank kept us awake. Lucy required three baths. The fireworks were grand, except for the Symphonic Prelude finale. The noise made us cover our ears."

Love, Sam