Another Day in the Country
Finding fringe family
© Another Day in the Country
When you live in a place like Marion County, where people have a tendency to live a long time in a small puddle, you often find yourself knowing of, and being related to, quite a few people in one way or another.
One of the first people we got acquainted with early on in town was Tony Meyer, who visited Ramona in the summer as we did and lived the rest of the year in California as we did.
Tony was fringe family because his sister had married our mother’s cousin.
When we moved from California to Kansas in 2000, Tony made a permanent move, too.
Folks classify as fringe family if I know who they are and how we are related and we’re friendly, but I don’t see them all that often.
It seems as if quite a few are in that fringe category in the area.
Our Aunt Anna used to lean over at a school program or a church picnic and say, “See those folks sitting over there? They’re distant relatives.”
She delighted in pointing out people who qualified and then giving us their lineage as to how they became fringe family members.
My primary physician just happens to fall into that category. It’s nice that I know my doctor’s background, and it comforts me that it’s not only a doctor / patient relationship but a fringe family thing, too — the grandchild of my mother’s cousin.
After all these years, I still am surprised about where I can run into folks whom my sister and I are distantly related to.
A couple of weeks ago, it was at the place where we exercise in Abilene. There was a lady there who I see fairly often. She heard me talking to someone and then said, “You’re from Ramona, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“I think we might be related,” she said. “Augusta Schubert was my aunt.”
“She was my grandmother,” I said, collecting another fringe family member.
Last week, I went to a lumber yard to buy yet another gallon of sealer to finish my porch project. The deck was so thirsty that it drank up the paint like sand in a desert that hadn’t seen water in 20 years.
As I was paying the bill, I noticed a white funeral card that mortuaries are kind enough to put around at businesses to notify of someone’s death.
I always read them to see whether it’s someone I’ve known, and I saw that a fringe family member had died earlier in July and I hadn’t realized it.
This man lived just a couple of miles from me. I go past his neat little acreage all the time, and now he’s gone.
He is part of my fringe family because my cousin married one of his brothers.
One year, when his nieces (my cousin’s kids) were visiting from California, he invited us for a tour of his bird sanctuary. That wasn’t his name for it, just mine. He was such an avid advocate for purple martins and bluebirds, which most people ignore and may even have trouble identifying.
When I saw his setup, he had bluebird housing all along a back fence on his property and purple martin houses in the front yard.
He knew his birds intimately — the date they would come back in the spring and when in August they’d leave on their migration.
He kept track of how many birds nested with him and how many babies they were able to raise. He made sure they had a water supply and clean housing. He protected them, as best he could, all summer. They were his charges.
The last time I talked to A.V. was several years ago at a family funeral. I told him that I kept an eye on his place and that whenever we passed by I’d smile and bless his dear soul for caring about birds, and then check to see how many purple martins were flying around or sitting on high wires.
Every fall, after the birds were gone, I’d see those bird houses on tall poles, brought down to half-staff, and I knew he was cleaning them, getting ready for next year.
Then, in the spring, I’d see them go back up.
A.V. Plank was ready, anticipating his birds’ return. I guess you could say that, this time, A.V. has migrated, and I’m wondering who will be taking care of his birds on another day in the country.