The Family Tree
My ancestors were poor, common, hardworking people. They were people of the dirt, the plow, and the crops. They were humble yet proud people. Ours was a species of folks who could bear any burden life heaped upon our shoulders, carry in on our backs, not bend our knees, and we would never break.
The family lifeblood courses through our veins; it is our crimson union. And it suffuses each one of us with the warmth of our one essence.
Our Family Spirit lives in the mighty Oak in the corner of the field. We are each merely parts of the Oak, but all together, we exist as one mighty Tree. We are the boughs, the branches, the twigs, and the buds that blossom. We are also the dead branches fallen, just as we are the future branches, twigs, and buds, which will come forth from us in their own time.
Our Tree firmly rooted in the Family Land. It’s canopy is plush with lambent, flickering, green foliage. And our huge leaves spread out, flowering in emerald life.
At its base, the Oak in the field, casts tranquil shadows. These shadows slow dance, coasting across fallen leaves on the ground. This cool shaded area became the family cemetery.
My father buried his father with his own hands underneath the mighty, ancient Oak. It took him 9 hours to dig through all the scores of roots in the soil there.
And when my father dies, I shall bury him there with the skin of my hands my arms, shoulders, back. Likewise, my son shall bury me her when it is his turn.
We are ancestors and descendants. We are fathers and mothers, we are sons and daughters, and we are brothers and sisters. We are all of those who precede us, and we are all of those who shall replace us. We are many and yet we are one continuous living thing.
We are The Family.