A Little History

I have an ancestral home. My family (on my mother’s side) has farmed the same piece of ground since 1804. In fact my Great Great Great (not sure exactly how many Greats) Grandfather Alexander Cochrane was the founder of Chautauqua County in New York. The original Cochrane’s were Irish immigrants who dug in and carved out bit of the American Dream as our country was being founded. It is amazing to me to be connected to this country in that way. I love that I will be able to share with my children a view of their lineage that stretches back to the birth of the United States. I could be a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution if I ever get around to finishing the paperwork…and I’m ashamed I have not done so already. Perhaps that is something a future daughter and I can do together if I ever decide to home school.

I digress. The vast importance I place on the sense of permanence and belonging I feel being in some way connected to this farm pales in comparison to the love I feel for my family: both those who still reside there and those who make the pilgrimage to return. My father’s side of the family also hails (if not as historically) from the same tiny village of Riley, NY. In fact, my parents grew up on the exact same street. They both attended Ripley’s one school (grades kindergarten through 12th.) where my mom was a cheerleader and my dad a football player. For heavens sake, they went on their first date in MIDDLE SCHOOL!

The first home my folks ever bought was wedged in between the homes of my two sets of grandparents with my mother’s sister living across the street. It was the epitome of small town life. I remember gardening with my Grandma Cochrane, making forts in the hay barn, and snipping endless beans in front of the TV. However, most of those wonderful memories happened during summers visiting, rather than during our residence. My father was a carpenter and during the snowy New York winters there was not enough reliable employment. So when he got an opportunity to work developing a country club community in southwest Florida he packed up my little family and we moved south. I was four.

I remember getting on the little plane that flew my mother (pregnant with my brother), sister, and I to Florida for the first time. Knowing that we were leaving behind my grandparents and cousins (especially Brian & Sara!) was more than I could stand. I remember sobbing. I remember my mom sobbing. In fact, she didn’t stop crying. Every letter she received from her mother or sister (and there were a lot of letters) she would start crying again. I can only imagine now how hard it was on my father to see his beloved wife so bereaved over leaving their hometown.

There can be no question that my father loved my mother. Either that or he was just sick of hearing all her belly-aching, because EVERY summer without fail he would pack up our station wagon, loaded with a car top carrier chock-full of toys, and drive us to Ripley. Once there, he would turn around, return to Florida alone, and work all summer subsisting on TV dinners and weekly phone calls from us. Looking back now I realize what a huge sacrifice this was, and it makes me appreciate our summers in Ripley all the more. Of course we missed my dad horribly, and I can not remember ever being as happy to see anyone as the big day when he would finally fly back to Ripley to reclaim us. But our summers in Ripley were the golden days of my childhood.

I could write a book of all the wonderful memories I have of our summers in Ripley. When I look back I am flooded with images of my family members, the smells of their houses, and sounds of their voices. I can hear Grandpa’s foot steps as he climbs up the cellar stairs to come in from the farm for lunch; and I can hear Grandma humming her tuneless little ditties as she gets a meal together in the kitchen. Grandma was amazing. She always had a craft or a project for us to work on. However, we were also perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves as their house was a virtual treasure trove with antique wonders hidden in the attic, cellar, and the many closets.

As often as we were inside playing imagination games it was even more likely my brother, sister, and I could be found outside with our cousin’s Brian and Sara feeding the kittens in the calf barn, trying to catch mud-skippers at the creek, or even out riding horses. This was a child’s paradise. Because Brian and Sara lived just down the street from Grandpa and Grandma Cochran we saw them the most, and they were our closest playmates. But, with so much family around the summers in Ripley were our opportunity to spend time with the rest of the family as well.

Each summer my Dad’s family would hold a family reunion at Grampy and Grandma’s house. My Dad is one of eight brothers and sisters, so those reunions were always large, boisterous, and exciting affairs, complete with matching t-shirts. Usually the reunion was held around the Fourth of July. My older cousins Mike and Jeff along with my dad’s youngest brother Scott (who was younger than Mike and Jeff) would have fireworks galore. Grampy’s drive way would be littered with the remains of GI Joes and other toys that had been blown to smithereens with firecrackers. I was always jealous because that was play that my mother strictly prohibited my siblings and me from engaging in.

The focal point of these reunions was always a golf tournament that all the men in the family would engage it. It was less fierce competition and more an excuse to drink beer and goof off. However, they did have a trophy that was passed around to the new victor every year: a pink rabbit figurine wearing golf pants and swinging a club! I was never old enough to play, but I will never forget my pride or excitement the one year my dad allowed me to be his caddy. The men would go off golfing in the morning and return in time to picnic in the afternoon. While they were gone the women would gather in the kitchen to gab while we kids did mad-libs with Scott or all walked down to Grandma Cochrane’s to swim at her pool. No other time have I experienced such a simple and joyful existence.

I am sharing all this with you, so that you will understand just how sad I was to miss the most recent reunion of my father’s family this past July; and conversely just how overjoyed I was to retune to Ripley for my cousin Sara’s wedding last weekend. The wedding was simply magnificent. And unfortunately you will have to wait until my next post to read more about it. We are on our way to San Francisco with Sonny’s Aunt Betsy who is visiting with us. TTFN!