Loon-atics at 30

Last Sunday, Roger and I drove up to the Village at Loon Mountain in Lincoln, NH to join 23 other members of my extended family on my father’s side.

Amazingly this was the 30th anniversary of the annual fall gathering at the timeshare condo my grandparents purchased back in 1976. According to my dad, they made the commitment so that they would have a place to travel with friends and to reciprocate the interesting invitations they received from other in retirement. Unfortunately, my grandmother died that same year before they have had a chance to show off their shiny new digs.

But they started a family tradition few of us missed more than once or twice over the years. My grandfather presided over the week each year until his health failed in 1983. My father would bring his RV and park nearby, and my Uncle Dick and Aunt Marilyn would bring the StarCraft pop-up to a local campground for the week. After Grandpa’s death, his three children and spouses (my dad, Dick and Marilyn, and my Aunt Norma with Uncle Frank) took turn rotating through the three bedrooms – master with bath on the lower level, double twins on the main, and loft with two twins. Today squatters’ rights are beginning to shift the next generation.

This was the very start of the condo boom, and building in Lincoln was only just beginning. For their annual week’s purchase, they had chosen as start the first Friday in October. Over the years this has more or less coincided with peak foliage season, the long Columbus Day weekend about half of the time, and often the Octoberfest celebration “over at the mountain” (The Village is directly across the street from the ski area main entrance).

The aunts and uncles always stayed the full week. All the “kids” (we were teenagers the first few years) stayed according to school schedules and finances. When we were young adults, we sometimes paired up renting space in a condo as close the original unit as possible. A big group of us would always hike paths or climb mountains accessed via the Kangamaugus Highway or Route 112. We’d confide in one another, collect leaves, take photographs, and enjoy many a good laugh.

From my earliest memory until just a few years ago, the full complement of Williams’, Waldmans, Weimars, and later Walonskis got together every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Father’s Day in addition to the annual Loon event. As a group and like many families I suppose, we often have very little in common related to our day-to-day experiences. However, those years of regular gathering cemented our collective memory and caused us to know each other intimately. With each passing year, I think we all realize how unusual it is that we’ve remained as close as we have.

Not sure exactly when we began, but for more than twenty years my dad and I have put on a “the big meal” on Saturday night. Because my father has lived in a motor home of some fashion for more than 30 years, Loon provided an occasion and location for him to host a family gathering. This year, the only day “everyone” could be present (not counting my eldest cousin Lark’s married daughter Heather and her husband Zack who live in Jacksonville, FL and my Aunt Norma and Uncle Frank who sat out the festivities for the first time) was Sunday.
It doesn’t matter that the day unfolds pretty much the same way each year. Small groups head downtown to see the Art Fair and to grab lunch. Others walk up the mountain or simply walk over to watch the Pemigawasset River flow. There are without a doubt too many of us crammed into too tight a space. And yet, I think we all leave satisfied and warm in the pleasure of feeling so completely at home and accepted with so many dear people whom we love.

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