goTriad.com

Soul searchers, I have news for you. Life's answer to the eternal existential question, "Who am I?" lies within reach, and you need only attend your next family reunion to obtain it.

Family reunion, a more loaded pair of words there never was. For some, the idea of a gathering of extended kinfolk is joyous, for others, a recipe for disaster. Yet, the vast majority of us here on planet Earth have familial ties that fall somewhere in between the two: blissfully bittersweet and infinitely complicated.

My mountain folk side of the family meets every year in Asbury, W.Va., where relations from all over the country come together with covered dishes in the community building that once was the one-room schoolhouse where my mother and her siblings attended elementary school.

As a child, the annual reunion pilgrimage for me was devoid of meaning. Time then was endless and everyone seemed unchangeable. My cousins, the Hansons (not the '90s teen band) and I would sit defiantly outside on a bench, scoffing at the grown-ups for all their trite sentimentality. Over mouthfuls of fried chicken and Aunt Donna's famous scalloped tomatoes , we would grudgingly answer routine questions about school, extra-curricular activities and plans for the future, all the while planning our exit strategy.

There were years I skipped the reunion. Bigger and better plans, I suppose. Other times, I just didn't go. The past several years, as a fledgling adult, I returned, though it was not until this summer that I fully accepted and understood the role of a grown-up at the family reunion and all the strings attached. I felt propelled to go, mostly because it was my daughter's first family reunion, and some mysterious, indescribable hunger for family ties took root in my psyche. I wanted my girl to know her people, to feel early on her tiny part in something much bigger.

So, with husband and baby in tow, I found myself excitedly winding our way down mountain roads, eager to soak up all the togetherness I could. I must say, I wasn't disappointed. I honestly don't think I can remember a reunion that was quite so pleasant, or so meaningful. Wall-to-wall aunts, uncles, cousins and a few requisite reunion crashers, all laughing, hugging, eating and spontaneously dancing, including my own daughter, who bounced up and down, shrieking with delight amid all the hubbub.

My Hanson cousins are all grown up, too. Wes has a baby girl a few months younger than mine, and Lauren is a glamorous world traveler. We no longer sat like ingrates on the outside bench. We seamlessly entered the fold that had always welcomed us, and we actually talked to people.

This reunion had some pretty amazing finds. Cousin Keith looked healthier than I had seen him in years; Uncle Calvin, too, remarkably having bounced back from major heart trouble. Cousin Howard's band has generated some pretty cool buzz (www.halfbadbluegrass.com, Howard plays the mandolin).

There were babies everywhere, tentative new spouses making their first appearances, and a heavy, unspoken fog of grief surrounding the absence of a cousin, terminally ill, and too weak to travel.

This year was as it always has been, a veritable stew of tattoos, golf shorts, Roman noses, interesting hairdos, and shared DNA of a people who have stood, shoulders squared and eyes laughing, in the face of both adversity and triumph. This reunion, like many before it, was testament to new life, second chances, sad goodbyes and the constant reminder that time is a thief.

I think novelist Jane Howard summed it up nicely, when she mused "Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one."

Judy Caldwell-Midero lives in Jamestown with her husband, daughter and kitty. She enjoys reading, writing, wearing sensible shoes and a good cup of coffee. Contact her at judycaldwellmidero@gmail.com.