Aubertin family reunion

Family Reunions

Family reunions are more than an opportunity to enjoy relatives. They are often a chance to embrace memories of loved ones who have passed on and of childhoods left behind.  This was the case for me this summer when I attended mine, the first on my Dad's side of the family in 14 years. It was held at the Aubertin Ranch on the Colville Indian Reservation.

When I was a child my parents would load me and my four siblings into the car every Sunday morning to go visit my grandparents at the ranch. Getting to the ranch requires a trip down the Keller grade, an eight-mile stretch that consists of a series of hairpin turns including one called the Devil's Elbow. I realized as I drove the grade at a leisurely 45 mph, that the reason I always got car sick as a child was because my dad drove it at 60.

Heading down the grade, I recalled an old Indian legend about "rolling rock" that my dad used to tell me. My recollection was that there were signs on the grade saying "Watch for Rolling Rock," and Dad told me if I found a rolling rock there would be a watch inside. My mom said Dad was probably laughing at me from heaven for being so dense. What he actually had told me was that if you found a rolling rock and turned it in, you would get a watch. Hence the saying, "watch for rolling rock." 

Once at the bottom of the grade you drive onto the Martha S, one of the last free ferries in Washington. When I was a kid, my mom told me the ferry was named after her. I don't think I ever really believed the ferry was named after Mom, but I still like to tell the story.  The ferry ride is a 10 minute trip across the mile-wide section of Lake Roosevelt. The Aubertin Ranch is another 30 miles north on Highway 21 amid some of the most beautiful forest scenery I have ever seen.

Arriving at the ranch, the smell of moss on the trees sparked a memory of sticking moss on my face to make mustaches and beards. Somewhere there are photos of Dad, Mom and us kids with our "moss-staches."

The old outbuildings are gone now, but I can still remember the adventures I had there, like climbing onto the saddles as they hung in the tack shed, swinging back and forth while pretending to race horses. A few times I even sat on the saddles when they were actually on a horse, and the ranch hand, Jim, would lead me around the driveway.

As I walked down to the hay shed and stood on the fence rail at the corral, I could vividly recall branding day and feeling sorry for the cows as they were herded through to have their backsides seared with the Aubertin brand. It's a brand I think a cow would be proud to have.

My sister jokes that it is in the Aubertin genetic code that they have to blow things up!

The last time I was at the ranch was July 4, 1980. That day the men decided they needed to blow up some old dynamite because it was "dangerous." The dynamite was placed in a 50-gallon drum, and the men took turns shooting at it. When it finally blew up, it was more than the blast that got our attention. All the screaming women ran to the field to inform the men that the bay windows had been sucked out of the house by the blast. The dynamite story has been told many times since, and the goal for this reunion was to do it justice.

So this year, my brother arrived at the reunion from Montana with his Volvo loaded down with enough guns and ammo to shoot for several days. My cousin, an active duty police officer and uncle, a retired federal Bureau of Indian Affairs agent, were not to be outdone – they supplied the explosives. Needless to say, the Aubertins made a lot of noise on the reservation!

Heavy artillery aside, the gathering was everything family reunions are made of — lots of food, photos and reminiscing. For me it was like finding a lost part of myself — the part that is connected to the mountains and the lake — the part of me that is a descendent of the Colville Indians. Often our histories are lost because stories are not told. Like the rolling rock story of Dad's, I hope the story of my family reunion will not be lost. 

While the sun was setting and the goodbyes were being said, I could feel my dad's presence. He would have loved it.