On a normal year, there are anywhere between 100-120 family members. COVID took center stage last year and the family reunion was cancelled. For the first time ever.
But an unofficial invitation was sent this year. Turns out, 76 people showed up. And fun was had by all.
My friend, Emma, is a year out from the loss of her husband, who valiantly battled cancer before leaving her with three children.
That great philosopher Winnie the Pooh once said:
I knew when I met you an adventure was going to happen.
— A. A. Milne
This speaks to me of my new husband, Dan.
Back in the days when televisions fit into cabinets, this primitive hutch housed a TV. It once served as extra storage for kitchen items, and it once set outdoors for a spell, housing vegetable seeds and flowerpots and garden tools.
Of all the self-careful things we women did this past weekend—hearing each other’s stories, eating, hiking, laughter, yoga, massage, solving a murder mystery, singing, listening to encouragement from scripture—one of my favorites was the paint class.
I’ve dragged this beautiful, old door around with me through several addresses. Because I had plans to repurpose it into something new and useful. I just didn’t know what. Yet.
It was Summer’s birthday request. She asked her husband for an outdoor activity and dinner in Bend, which meant a drive over an entire mountain range.
“We didn’t know how many subs would be here today, and we wanted to get a good parking spot,” said our cabinet guy with a smile. He showed up on Monday at 6:45AM. Six. Forty. Five. In the morning.
“If you want to use the cabin to think and talk this over, you’re welcome to it,” said our good friend who was standing right there after Dan got the news of his escalating cancer.
Two days later, on a cold spring day, Dan lit a fire that would begin warming the cabin. We donned layers and walked upriver to the spot where we said, “I do,” beneath towering trees.
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
