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Yesterday, I saw a bunch of cousins.
I have a lot of cousins. A few have died by now, but I started out with 36 cousins, and only two were on my father’s side.
My mother came from a large farm family, and her brothers and sisters had a lot of children, and so I got to have a lot of cousins while I was growing up. I thought it was normal, having this second layer of siblings that I would see up at the farm. We ate sitting on the stairs, because there were many more people than chairs. We picked eggs and played in the haymow together.
Because there were so many cousins, we grouped together by age, hanging out only with those cousins a year older or younger. Most of my cousins were older than me. They were cool and listened to rock music behind closed bedroom doors and brought boyfriends to the farm and paid no attention to me whatsoever. The cousins younger than me were small and annoying and not able to keep up. You can afford to be selective when you have so many cousins to choose from.
After I got older, I didn’t see my cousins as often. While they were raising families and busy with their jobs and moving to different parts of the country, I only kept in touch with one or two cousins, and eventually I didn’t even hear from them too often.
But now everyone is getting older and, particularly since a few cousins have died and so many of our parents have passed, it seems like the cousins are making more of an effort to stay connected. I love this.
Because coming from a large family, I feel as if I only hold one tiny piece of my family history. My cousins remind me of all the things I have forgotten and tell me things I never knew.
“I remember horseradish at the farm,” I told my cousin, Tim. “But I don’t remember what we ate it with.”
“Grandma grew it,” Tim confirmed. “And Grandpa ate it on his eggs.”
“On his eggs!” This was news to me. I love horseradish, and now I’m going to try it on my eggs.
We don’t spend all our time reminiscing about horseradish. The years between the older, cool cousins and the younger, annoying ones have disappeared, and we talk about leaving jobs and downsizing homes and watching the nieces and nephews do interesting things. These cousins all look a lot like me. Many of them have the same blue eyes of our Swedish grandparents, and we grew up eating the same vegetables grown in an oversized garden and lots of eggs (with or without horseradish).
Now I see us all growing older in the same ways and feel as if I’m part of a sample group, selected at birth, chosen to go through life together. We convene at irregular intervals from birth until death to compare our experiences and our shared memories of horseradish. The whole thing seems tenuous. And a little magical. And every year, more important.
We said our goodbyes and promised to get together again soon. Next year, we’re planning to have a cousin reunion in Colorado, and I think that will be a lot of fun.
I don’t know how long the ties of cousins will hold. Every gathering feels as if it might be the last. But my mother just saw her 90-year-old cousin last week, and they had a nice visit. I’m sure they still have a lot to talk about. Till next time, Carrie To see photos, check out CarrieClassonAuthor on Facebook or visit CarrieClasson.com.
