It was sibling weekend.
I spent time at my parent’s with just my four siblings (and 2 of our spouses, but only four of our many children).
Our official goal was to help mom and dad with a few projects.
Our unofficial goal was sibling time with mom and dad, sharing old memories and creating new ones.
The time was both relaxed and busy.
We scraped and painted.
Dug and planted.
Cut and piled.
We dug out old photo albums and remembered faces and places we hadn’t thought about in years.
We looked through the boxes of school memories that Mom had saved for each of us.
Worksheets. Art projects. Report cards. School pictures. Writing assignments.
And laughed till we cried at the things we found!
Before we went home, we took one more trip to grandpa’s barn to take some pictures before it is gone.
It’s bowed and leaning – but still full of memories.
And mice, and coons and probably rats and maybe even bats.
Some of us were brave enough to venture into the hay loft – hoping we were making enough noise to scare away any unwanted critters.
But few of us ventured up that ladder my uncle set out for us. My sister found a way up on the inside – climbing bales of straw and hoisting ourselves up.
My descent from the loft included a very ungraceful slide down those same bales.
I went home with straw in my britches and a head full of dust – but it was worth it to be a kid again for a few minutes with my siblings.
And really – that’s what the weekend was all about.
Going back in time remembering people and places and things that we share together.
One of my dad’s friends often says, “I would like to be able to go back and put my feet under my Dad’s table.”
And that’s just what we did.
For a few days one weekend in April, we put aside the cares and responsibilities of our adult lives, put our feet under Dad’s table and remembered.