The year is 1989, and I am perched on the floor of my grandparent’s parlor. Around the room, I am surrounded by an intergenerational assemblage of relatives and friends. A baby, the newest addition to the family, is passed from one adult to another, lovingly cooed over and adored by all. My gregarious grandmother, our matriarch, commands the room from her easy chair. The room is warmed by an old wood stove. A pot of water boils at the back, throwing moisture into the air. Here, I am safe. Here, I am loved. Here, I am educated. The stories begin. My uncle shares a memory, a hunting story this time; along with the particulars, he relates the date and location. Another interjects. The date was correct, but the location, in actuality, was several miles to the north, so proven by the remembrance of a particular landmark. Others chime in with murmurs of agreement. The story continues, relating the methods by which the animal was tracked. My grandfather interrupts. He recalls a detail that should be noted. This brings others into the conversation to add their points of view, enriching the memory. The reminiscence takes us through a myriad of perspectives from all participants, each correcting or endorsing the recollections of one another. The story eventually concludes, usually with boisterous laughter, as joke after joke accompanies the climax. Now, our grandmother chimes in. She recalls the aftermath of the affair. The spoils of the hunt were delivered to her door, and now the work of the processing begins. She, my mother, and my aunts recall their part in the tale, the work of turning the game into meals. The memories flow. Who did what … how it was prepared … and what herbs and ingredients accompanied it. What they had, and what they made do without. Who was invited to partake, and with whom the excess was shared. From my perch on the floor, at their feet, my little ears swallow up these memories. One day, I will pass on these stories, adding my interpretations to the tales. This is an oral tradition, a perfect method of knowledge transfer. •
Photo by Mae Gammino. Silvermoon LaRose
