IF MY WISHES WERE HORSES

I close my eyes and visualize my grandmother Ina, her smooth white, wavy hair gathered in a bun at the back of her neck. She wore thick glasses, home-made print dresses, and a determined look. Her family gathered at her house in Westfir on holidays, under her direction. The nondescript mill town, five miles from Oakridge, Oregon, is tucked in among hills and valleys of the Cascade Mountains. The fir, cedar, oak, and spruce decorated in various shades of emerald, yellow-green, gray and darker greens were the life thread of the mill and of the town itself.

Gran, as we called her, and Papa Bill, raised five children so I had ample aunts, uncles and cousins on my mother’s side, and even more on my dad’s side of the family. I couldn’t get enough of the banter and stories at holiday events. Adults crowded around a long table in the living room heaped with bowls and platters of food. Each family brought a favorite dish or pie or both—way too much food to be consumed in one day—but we did our best. The mingling aromas of turkey, dressing, ham, gravy, sweet potatoes, fruit pies, green bean casserole, and my mom’s home-made rolls tantalized us to the drooling point. A special dinky table was set up in the kitchen for “us kids.” We filled our plates, sat down, and Gran intoned the blessing. Then volume amped with cutlery clicking against china, congenial conversation, and laughter reuniting family members.

After the meal, women cleared tables, washed dishes, and put food away. Not the men. They sat smoking, reminiscing, and boasting; each yarn surpassing the last. Kids polished off olives and celery with cream cheese as they took plates to the sink but then gravitated outside for running games, weather permitting. I preferred being inside listening to grownups. Dad and Uncle Billy talked about logging details or did you hear about the guy who got caught trying to steal a load of cedar posts along Brock Road? Uncle Billy caught my eye, took a drag on his sweet-smelling pipe and blew perfect bluish-white smoke rings toward the ceiling. I was totally fascinated.