Ten Year Flood

Walla Walla, WA

July 19, 2021

A couple weeks ago, we celebrated the Fourth of July. I noted how I love the idea of the day, but hold some contempt for the fireworks by which it is celebrated. 

I think that’s a mistake.

Rituals are important. Especially after the last year, we can’t take them for granted. We need things to look forward to, and the lack of them can be acute…particularly when you fear they may be gone forever.

Gathering for fireworks, blowing out candles, carving the turkey, putting up the tree. These are the habits of home, hearth, and heart…and of family. We missed most of them during the annus horribilis of 2020, and wondered if we might never get them back. 

Fortunately, like pocket gophers in the Wallowa, many have poked their head above ground, looked warily around, and resumed their rhythm. One of them was resuscitated this week, in Walla Walla.

We’re always glad to be here. Yet aside from my cousins’ wedding, we’ve never had a better reason. 

My family has many quirks, but among the more interesting is that every decade, like a ten-year flood, we have many milestone birthdays within the same year. The list is so extensive it seems contrived…not that we’d be above manufacturing such a thing as an excuse for a party.

Our cousin Alice, and my niece, Saylor, each celebrate their tenth birthday this year. Our elder son marks his twentieth. Less credibly, we’re expected to believe Alice’s mother, Ashley, is already forty, and that my younger brother is somehow fifty. 

Our uncle George completed his seventieth year last month, and uncle Hugh will turn eighty in November. The day after he does, Papa Jerry will cap the year by blowing out ninety candles. 

This pattern pre-dated any of us. My maternal grandparents founded the club. Both were born 110 years ago this spring. Neither would’ve missed this weekend for the world. Unfortunately, they were both called away by the next.

There are a lot of things I appreciate and admire about my Walla Walla cousins. Ashley and Brian are talented, humble, thoughtful, and caring. They are incomparable parents, terrific friends, and great people. And they make wonderful wine and provide superb travel tips. 

Not that they never make mistakes, or do anything they later (or immediately) regret.  This may be one of those times. It started last week when they allowed Rita, Alexander, David, and me into their home. Then, this weekend…like flames over a firewall…the rest of the family consumed their unsuspecting town.

We returned Wednesday from our excursion to Oregon. By the following night, Walla Walla was ablaze with Franklins, Trouts, Rudins, Accardos, Gershes, Millers, and Breens. Friday afternoon, the inferno was in full force. But it was contained…on the lovely lawn of the Canvasback Winery. 

As winemaker for the brand, Brian was in his element, providing several samples, all of which were well-described and eagerly tasted. As it usually is this time of year, they sky was clear and the weather warm. A gentle breeze conspired with the wine to provide comfort from the heat, and a superfluous spur to easy conversation. 

The conversation, and the wine, continued that night. Our large group gathered over two tables at the Walla Walla Steak Company, emptying plates and bottles deep into the evening. We buzzed between tables as dinner progressed, not allowing artificial seating arrangements to harness our hive. 

Afterward, Brett, Rita, and I found ourselves watching some of Walla Walla’s hidden talent at the Karaoke Palace. From the Steak Company, Steve, Katy, and Perry began the walk with Brett. But in strategic fashion they fell behind, and surreptitiously (and wisely) peeled away and returned to their house. 

Plato is supposed to have said that nothing more excellent or valuable than wine was ever granted by the gods to man. If so, this was as excellent and valuable a weekend as we could’ve hoped to have had. 

Friday, before the whole clan indulged at Canvasback and drained the cellar at Walla Walla Steak, Brett and Jennifer joined Rita and me at Saviah for what has become a traditional tasting when we are in town. 

Saturday, Brian took David, Alexander, Alice, and Raleigh to Walla Walla Memorial Pool while several of us tasted wines at Revelry in the morning, and (after a fun and filling lunch at Mercado on Main) Walla Walla Vintners in the afternoon. Both offered the usual complements of good wine and great company. 

The Vintners sits east of town. A tunnel of lavender graces the entrance, and entices the guest to a captivating scene. With a Blue Mountain backdrop, waves of golden wheat surround rows of green vines, and allowed a dozen of us to savor our sustenance in a sublime setting. 

As the afternoon moved along, we did too. We emptied our glasses, bought some bottles, and hustled to Brook & Bull for the climax of the weekend. Had our reunion been an opera, this would’ve been the aria. 

Ashley’s winery is south of Walla Walla, with expansive views of the Blue Mountains to the east. Vast terrain and the setting sun beckoning out back. Inside, Plato’s gift of the gods (or, in this case, goddess) flowed free.

A couple dozen of us settled into sofas on the patio, onto chairs around the tasting room, or atop cushions on the balcony. Rosé and Chardonnay welcomed the throng, as kids and dogs ran, rolled, and leapt across the lawn.

As shadows lengthened, the mountains basked in the soft light of a fading day. By now whites had yielded to reds, and a food truck had arrived to satiate stomachs. The crowd gathered round the feast spread across the tasting room table, filling plates and pleasing palates with delicious Thai treats from Soi 71.

And, like an Allied general in the Argonne Forest, the corkscrew remained ever-alert, appropriately positioned behind a row of bottles, ready at a moment’s notice to send his troops into battle. 

By the end of the evening, most of them had made the ultimate sacrifice. As darkness descended, their beneficiaries had congregated on the back patio, soothed by the vigor of the dead soldiers, and grateful for the hospitality of the woman who’d sent such fine progeny to glorious valor. 

As quickly as the family tide came in on Thursday, it began to retreat yesterday. David and I rose early, and walked the three blocks to St Patricks for Sunday Mass. Then, it was back to Hotel RABA, where Ashley and Brian once again hosted the horde.

As they have all week, they outdid themselves…laying out coffee and pastries, over which most of us reclined while kids attacked the trampoline and David and Christy traversed the “tightrope”.

As the morning waned, embraces were shared, and departures began. George and Molly left earlier that morning. From RABA, my parents made the four-hour drive to Seattle, from which they’ll take a five hour flight to Tampa. The Gershes had an easier drive, and shorter trip. The Walla Walla airport is ideal: tiny, and close. Just before noon, they made their way there, and back to LA. 

Katy and Perry stuck around most of the day, tasting wines in Oregon, and joining us at L’École before catching their evening flight. Then, we imposed one final time on the hospitality and patience of our gracious hosts. 

With Brett and Jennifer, we enjoyed a final evening with the Rudins and Trouts, polishing the remnants of the prior night’s meal, washed down with succulent selections from their prodigious cellar. Having worn out our hosts and our welcome, we gave thanks, exchanged hugs, and said goodbye.

As an entire family, we don’t gather often. The first of these “Zero Birthday“ gatherings was ten years ago, in Atlanta. Rather than wait another decade, we expedited a second reunion five years later, in Tampa. A couple weddings gave great excuses to gather in 2018, first in San Francisco, then in Chicago. 

Like any family, we have our young kids, wise elders, and the rest of us, trying to make the lifelong transition from the first phase to the last. From one occasion to the next, with each successive reunion, new rôles are assumed, and new faces appear. 

We don’t know the time, place, or reason we’ll all get together next. Nothing is guaranteed. But we hope it will be soon.

Saturday night at Brook & Bull, as glasses emptied, the sun set, and the air cooled, Brian looked out over the fading light on the Blue Mountains, and lamented how quickly the family festivities had come and gone. 

“It seems like everyone just got here”, he said. “This weekend went too fast.”

As the days pass and the years go by, it seems like most things do.

JD