“My meringue flopped (insert frowny face)”

It was a text I got just a couple weeks into our dating relationship. D had made a lemon meringue pie to take to a family reunion, and she was pretty disappointed with how it turned out. I don’t remember what I said back, something empathic – I’m sure. But it made me think of the family reunions of my past, an old fashioned southern staple like the potato salad, baked beans, and fried chicken you can find at every single one. Including, as I would learn, this one.

Flash forward a year, and I was invited to tag along to that same reunion. It was June, just like always for this gathering. By that time, D and I were engaged, planning our wedding for October, and living together. On our way to the reunion, D told me a little more about it. The reunion was on her dad’s side of the family. It had been going on for over 70 years. Started by ten siblings that included D’s grandmother. All gathering at the cabin on the little lake.

When I got there, I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. The cabin boasts large windows, a great porch with hammocks, stone work on the inside. It feels like stepping back in time. 

I was immediately greeted by a woman named Sylvia who asked if I was a cousin or friend. I just smiled and said I was with D, and got a big smile and welcome in return. 

I met a lot of people that day – some of them reminded me of family members I grew up around. Like Jane, who reminds me of my second cousin Debbie. Or Sarah, who reminds me of my aunt Ellen. Another woman who reminds me of my aunt Judy.

Then there was Jack.

Standing near the door to the porch, a giant grin on his face – in his shorts, polo, and tall socks.

He hugged D and then shook my hand warmly and smiled at me. 

I don’t know what I expected. But that wasn’t it. I didn’t expect to be welcomed so warmly and quickly. It’s not exactly common for people like us in this area. Even and especially when it comes to relatives.

The next year, we went back to the cabin again. This time we were among the first to arrive. 

Once again, Jack was standing near the doorway, smile on his face – polo shirt, shorts, and socks up high. This time he hugged me when he said hello. 

This time, D and I were married. We had moved back to D’s hometown, just a few minutes away from the cabin. And I worked at the college which bore Jack’s name on the gym and a heritage center dedicated to historical preservation and archives.

We had come in the bus. We brought a squash casserole made from heirloom squash we had grown in our garden. Everyone loves the bus. She’s a 1978 Volkswagen beauty. 

The next year, we sat on the porch and told cousin Jane I was pregnant. The next reunion, there would be a new baby around.

And there was, but that year, the cabin had severe water damage, and we had to meet at another place – the original homeplace of the ten siblings.

Jack walked right up to us with a big grin, “Who is this?!” He patted our daughter and us on the back, that grin never fading. 

We missed a few years. The summers were too hot, I had just had a miscarriage, I was too pregnant. Sometimes D went with her mom, just for a little while. But last year, we made it back. And so did the cabin. 

After a several year hiatus, the reunion came home. Home to the Blue Springs Lodge where it all had happened for decade upon decade. 

This time, we had two kids in tow. D and I laughed when our daughter kept calling her lemonade “whiskey” and asking “Where’s my whiskey?” Our son stood near the badminton net with his belly sticking out, a belly we named after the family name. We got a great picture of that. 

We were some of the first ones there, and the day turned out to be the biggest reunion since I had started going. People came from hours away. Some I had never met before, and D wasn’t even sure if she had.

And of course, there to greet us when we arrived, stood Jack. By the front door, near the fireplace. Just like every year we had been to the cabin. He hugged us all, and smiled with delight at our kids, at our family. 

He walked around the cabin in his shorts, polo shirt, and tall socks – showing everyone all the restorations that brought the cabin back to its glory and made it more able to withstand time. The main feature? Air conditioning. It felt a lot better last year.

The potluck food wouldn’t fit on the long tables, and it wrapped around on top of coolers, and on the side railing of the back porch. And what we brought? A blueberry blackberry pie with a lemon crumb topping. I picked the berries myself from our yard. Mmmhmm. I did.

As the reunion went on, we played horseshoes, ate, went back for dessert, and showed the kids the little lake and spring. As we walked back up, we heard the singing coming loud from the main room. 

I almost forgot to tell you. This reunion is special. It isn’t just eating and talking. There are also announcements, presentations on projects and family history, and singing like it’s a formal order of service you can expect to follow each time. 

The singing was old fashioned hymns, just like always, and by then our kids were getting restless. This time, the presentation was Jack talking about the restorations and the groundskeepers presented a gift to all the family members. A keychain with the coordinates for finding the cabin, like finding our way back home. We were also invited to take a window home. The original windows had been replaced with replicas that were more eco-friendly. 

Soon, the grand finale of every reunion was started. A song. Not just any song. The Bandy family song. It’s a lyrical family history telling of the birth of each of the original clan – the siblings that included D’s grandmother and Jack’s dad. This song is set to the tune of “Oh Susanna.” I’m not kidding. It’s fantastic. I remember the first time I heard it – I couldn’t help but grin ear to ear – same every year, until last year. I can’t explain why. Maybe it was that we were back at the cabin. Maybe it was because the room was so full. Maybe it was because the people we had never even seen somehow knew the words by heart. Maybe I sensed something. But I teared up. Choked up. Had to keep myself from crying as I stood just outside the main room, in the hallway, the tune of “Oh Susanna” filling my ears. 

This Sunday, we should be heading back. Back to the cabin. Following not the coordinates, but the heart strings that pull us there at the end of every June and resonate as the lake and cabin come into view. 

But there will be no reunion this year. For the first time in over 80 years. We can’t meet because of Covid-19, yes. But also because of what Covid-19 took from the Bandy family far and wide. 

Jack.

I don’t claim to have really known Jack. We only saw each other at the reunions. I don’t think he would have recognized me out and about town. But what I do know of him is kindness, openness, and welcome. I know how he welcomed our family and didn’t look down his nose at us for a single second. I know he knew how to gather people and to bring everyone a sense of home, family, and connection when it seems those things have long been forgotten. I know he used what he had to do good. And that’s good enough for me. 

As everyone went to their cars last year with windows and key chains, I watched and looked back up at the cabin to take it in, just like I do every year. It felt special to take a piece of it home. It always will.

I hope this little writing is the tribute I want it to be. He was so much more than a carpet mogul or a man with money who did some good with it. He was kind. And that’s the best kind of rich there is.

To paraphrase the family song, 

“Hey Jack Bandy. You welcomed quite a few.

And I’m proud to have the Bandy blood aflowin’ through me, too.

Thank you, Jack. Thank you.