extended family
All about how to stay connected, strengthen ties and talk politics with your big, happy extended family.
Lost Through Generations
When it comes to ranch or farmland, pastures are something that take a lot of time to maintain to ensure that crops and livestock can enjoy the fields. The same thing goes for stories and history. Every family has stories that are told and passed down through generations. But the thing is, we have to keep telling the stories to keep them alive. Eventually, the stories just fade into the people who lived them, and if we're lucky, we'll at least remember the people in the stories.
By Nathan J Bonassin5 years ago in Families
Sandhills
Lizards ghecko's and snakes lived with us on the Sandhills in the land of abundance there was always more than enough for us all to eat. There were fruit trees such as appricot, plum, mandarin, orange trees at the front of Nans house. As kids growing up on the Sandhills there was plentiful for all who lived on the Sandhills.
By Maree Johnson 5 years ago in Families
My memories of my Uncles and Aunts.
My mind races back to those days when I was a little boy. The trips which our family took to Maryfield, Saskatchewan, during our summer holidays were very eventful. Maryfield was where our family always stopped in on our holidays as we visited my mother's grandparents.
By Lorne Vanderwoude5 years ago in Families
SEEKING THE PERFECT MOTHER
There are mothers, and then there are bonus mothers. This is the story of how I subconsciously went about deciding who I wanted to become by cherry-picking the most remarkable attributes of the amazing women who “mothered” me and tossing out any seemingly undesirable traits. You might say I am a combination of personalities, gifts and skills – all due to influential mothers who cared enough to shape and love me.
By Pam Sievert-Russomanno5 years ago in Families
My Father-in-Law's Bright Idea
Many people have been alike over the years. My recently departed, father-in-law and I were that type. His first name was Robert, like mine. He was a Leo, like myself. He was crazy about fishing, and so am I. With this type of chemistry, I knew that when we went fishing in was going to be adventure. I just didn't know that the chemistry would bring so much rain. We went fishing approximately seven times together and each time we got wet. This fall we had just planned our eighth fishing trip in my new Mako 19, when he un-expectantly passed from leukemia. We never got to break the curse that surrounded our fishing trips for years. Each time each trip seemed to be worse then the previous. Each trip always started out the same way, calm. Our sixth trip together was no different. About 15 years ago, I brought aluminum Grumman, "V" bottom, bass boat. My brother-in-law, Willie Moore and I installed stick steering in it, placed a Chrysler 25hp on the back with an 18lb thrust trolling motor in the front. We fished most of the ponds and lakes around Dover, DE. Later, I joined a bass fishing club, and still only used the boat to fish in fresh water tournaments, even though I loved saltwater surf fishing too. One day in late fall, my father-in-law, Robert English, came up with an bright idea. "Let take your boat to Deal Island, in Maryland, to catch some real fish." Now, when it comes to fishing, I am usually game for anything. I'll try anything once. I agreed. We headed out early Saturday morning from his house, where I kept my boat, in Kenton, De., and towed the boat to a Deal Island. The day seemed like any other day, and the weather report mentioned a possible shower, but that wasn't supposed to happen until late in the afternoon. We were good to go. As we headed out to the bay area, a feeling of awe crested into my body. The unknown, along with the rumors of saltwater fishing, and its plentiful bounties. Oh, and don't forget about "Jaws." Oh, well. I don't know why but the phrase, "We need a bigger boat" kept haunting me. This was the first time that I had been in saltwater, let alone, in my little bass boat, and the enjoyment was one that will play over and over in your mind for an eternity. As I anchor, my father-in-law baited his hook, and immediately caught several spot. I followed, and did the same. We begin hauling in spot and croaker two at a time. This WAS fishing. We spent the morning filling our two coolers full of medium size fish. Then, in a blink of an eye, my father-in-law hooked something that started taking his thirty to fifty pound line off of his real at an alarming rate. I swore I heard the theme from, "Jaws" playing around the boat. Before he lost all of his line, I pulled anchor, and the fish proceeded to pull us slowly across the bay. The tension mounted as his fought this thing for twenty minutes. Never have I seen a fish fight so hard. In bass fishing, if he isn't in the boat in a few minutes, you should take up sewing. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't too friendly. Finally, it got to the boat, and this huge mass turned on its back. It was a stingray or skate, I never could tell the difference, with a wingspan larger then the hood of a car. The boat rocked as this creature began throwing water upon us at a constant rate. I picked up the oar. I wasn't for sure whom I was going to hit. This giant winged creature, or my father-in-law, if he tried to bring this thing aboard this little boat. As the chaos continued, he pulled out his knife, and cut the line. It sounded line a gun going off as the ray circled the boat a few times before heading back down to the depths of the bay. A feeling of relief engulfed my body. "Wow, I guess he was pissed, huh? "As we re-anchored, and started catching more small fish throughout the morning and into early afternoon, we notice dark clouds forming at a distance. We were only a few miles from the ramp, so we decide to fish a little more. At the first sign of lightning, we were to pack our gear and head in. We spotted lightning. "Lets get out of here." We started packing up. Other boats also started heading in as the sounds of thunder began to accompany the lightning. I choked the motor, and with one mighty and quick pull, SNAP! The string came off in my hand. Our mouth's dropped open. Immediately, my father-in-law dropped the trolling motor, and guided us to the ramp. I thought, "No, this can't be happening." I desperately began the painful process of retying the starter string. Like an old lawn mower, it took time. The first drop fell about five minutes into the trip home. I was almost finished retying the string when the sky let out a tremendous roar. I thought we were hit by lightning. The bay became rough, and the rain began to dance throughout the boat. Once you hear the sound of huge, icy raindrops hit an aluminum haul, from the inside, you'll never forget it. I finished wrapping the started, and pulled the engine a few times. It finally started as a blinding sheet of rain impaired our vision. Instead of going all the way to the channel, I decided to head back to the ramp, as the crow flies. I figure my boat's draft was shallow enough to make it, and this would also save us a lot time. I was wrong. I forgot about the long shaft of my main motor. Approximately five hundred yards from the ramp, we ran aground. The water in the boat was almost covering the trolling motor batteries. Thank goodness it didn't short them out. We lifted the big motor, and used the trolling motor to get us back in deeper water. Other boats offered a hand, but we told them that we hand things under control. I restarted the main engine, and drove the boat full throttle to the dock. We jumped out of the boat, ran to his truck, and waited for the storm to pass. There was not a dry place on our bodies. After about a half-hour of pounding, the storm subsided. My Grumman, still floating, looked like a kiddie pool. The boat was almost half full of icy water. After wincing it to the trailer at an angle that allowed most of the water to exit, we got it back on the trailer. We laughed all the way back to Kenton, DE. This was out sixth trip together, and it would be nothing compared to our upcoming seventh trip, but that's another story.
By Robby Robb Lewis5 years ago in Families
Socialized Native American
I grew up brown, I was familiar with the frown and how some called it stoic. I didn’t see that with family, as what we did best together was laugh. A professor said, “I thought you were shy. I understand why, as I was socialized to watch and listen, more than speak. The saying is we have two eyes, two ears, and one mouth for a reason. Except, no one had to say that. We just knew.
By Denise E Lindquist5 years ago in Families
A Mother to All
The lady I consider my #boss mom I would also consider a mother to all. She is always looking out for others. Especially children. She is my #boss mom because she has made a very big difference in my life, and how I grew up. She still does everyday. This lady is my chosen second mother. She graciously assumed that role in my life when my mom died from cancer when I was just a child. I would have chosen my natural mom as my #boss mom, but I don’t remember a lot about what she taught me growing up. While she was here, she taught me love. I do know that her death has played a part in who I am today, as a person, and as a writer.
By Jessica Karris5 years ago in Families
Generational Strands
Sitting around her wood kitchen table, its surface ridged like the jagged hilltops that enfolded the county, and well-worn with three generations of hands, my grandmother drenched buttermilk pancakes with blueberry syrup and slid the plate down the slick surface until it bumped into my open hands.
By L.A. Hancock5 years ago in Families
