Striking Gold: 2013 Family Reunion at the Claim

Last week, my daughter got mustard on her jeans. Any mother knows that this is a crisis. It was no small amount of mustard either; it was a full bratwurst's worth. When you are a 19 year old who can barely find jeans that fit, this is a full-on catastrophe.

An attempt, albeit potentially futile, to return yellow denim to blue was called for.  As I knelt on hard rocks over creek water with dish soap in hand and no clothes washer in sight, I was contemplative. I was automatically driven to wonder whether my great grandmother Lizzie had scrubbed clothing against these same creek rocks in years past.  I voiced the quandary to Elyse, whose immediate response was, "That's exactly what I was thinking." Well of course she was; our family is like that. Our feet are firmly planted in one generation yet our heads and hearts span several.

In the early 1900s, my great-grandfather Jude Valdez Allen established a gold claim high in the northern California mountains. I'm sure this is somehow related to my living these many years later at 6000 ft. elevation; it's in the blood I suppose.  Save for a short respite, that same claim has been in my family ever since. My great grandfather had been in search of gold --the kind rings are made of, the kind that feeds families and security and dreams.

He never, to my knowledge, struck it rich, but gold was found, a tent was pitched, a cabin was built, and sedans were pushed by uncles across creeks and up grades that sedans had not been designed to traverse.  Children played in creek water, made memories, grew up, and brought their own babies to those woods. Fire pits were set alight, stories were told, and snow load collapsed a cabin. Character was built, self reliance honed, and memories made.

In 2013 some 80+ descendants of Jude Valdez and Elizabeth Allen, along with an enormous cadre of mismatched family dogs, gathered yet again on that claim. There were four wheel drives that didn't-- as their predecessors had-- require pushing across the creek.  Tents were pitched, fire pits were  lighted, and stories were told. Children played in the creek where their grandparents and great-grandparents had played. A snake scare was averted, a tiny gold flake was found, and armed claim jumpers were redirected. White haired ones told stories of their dear parents and re-glimpsed their own childhoods through new experiences radiating from young ones' eyes. There were blue jeans, cast iron cookware, and mustard.

Gold was gathered there. Not the kind my great-grandfather had been after, but the kind of gold that generations are made of.  It seems that my great-grandfather and his precious and honored wife Lizzie had struck it rich after all.

May we always remember that, no matter the day's mediocrity, we are raising generations -- each one of us -- no matter how young -- even before we've begun.
They'll drink in your values and they'll tell your stories.  Make them good ones.

God Speed,
~Michelle

Horses, Dogs, and Family

Certain things run in families.  For some families, that includes the love of animals, and the preservation of the memory of very special members of the family that happen to be animals.

Snap, Jude Valdez Allen's (my Great Grandfather's) very special horse

Jude Valdez Allen's youngest daughter Joy (my Great Aunt) with another family member named Snap.

Today's Snap, who is part of my Cousin Vicki's family

~~~~~

“Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That's the problem.” ― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

George Alma Allen: Memories of My Father, Part I

Memories of MY Father, part one, 
by George Michael ("Mike") Allen

Dad was a man who had pride in his work. When he poured concrete, he "made it right". When he "pulled a screed", he would cock his head while looking over the surface of the freshly poured "mud". He was making sure there were no voids in the level of the pour. He would pick up a bit of mud (just a little bit) from the the front side of the screed and toss it back to fill any voids (ever so slight voids) and move that screed back and do it again (and then cock his head and look it over again, just to make sure).

He always used 3/4 rock and tamped it well to bring "the milk" to the top. None of this "pea gravel, no tamp" business that they use today. When I worked for him during the Summer, I was the guy who went back to water down the slabs from the previous day or two. I never saw a puddle or a low spot. His slabs put a billiard table to shame. When he did a big job and used "Finishers", he used only the best. And they knew they better "do it right".

That's "MY" Father.

Part II to come....

Copyright George M. Allen or Michelle Allen Bychek 2012

Blood and Soil and Shared Memories in Jackson's Hole

I stand on the soil of the Wyoming homestead of my forebearers, in what is now the Grand Teton National Park. The mighty peaks are watching, just as they had watched my great-great-grandparents Charles and Mariah break soil here.  My rubber soled running shoes are planted upon a foundation stone that was likely laid by the hands of my father's great-grandfather.  I am contemplating the discovery of some now-wild strawberry plants under the brush near where the house once stood.  Did my great-great grandmother plant the great-great grandparents of these hearty strawberry plants?  I cannot know.

"They had a refrigerator", says my Great Aunt Joy, who has childhood memories here. Once the baby of the family, she is now, at 89,  the matriarch of the family.  I shiver slightly as time speeds, quietly but manifestly, by.  "They opened a window in the kitchen and dug a box out of the snow to place the perishables in, closing the window to keep them cold."

Well, of course!  The epiphany of pioneer practicality washes over my modern mind.  Why didn't I think of that?  Well, ...because I didn't need to, of course.  Could they have known that a century later, their descendants would marvel at this revelation?  I'm sure not; they were simply keeping the milk cold.

I glance at my daughter, who will bring her grandchildren here, to stand upon these stones. She is talking to the cousin that is closest to her in age.  They aren't thinking of it today, but they will meet, many years hence, in the shadow of these mountains, to stand upon foundation stones and to bend to find hidden hearty strawberry plants.  They will talk of refrigerators of snow.  They will tell the stories, and the minds of their grandchildren will be filled with thoughts of college and futures, but, still, those grandchildren will quietly tuck the stories away in their hearts, and they will remember.