Sherrard, Illinois

Another QC day, another monster family get-together. This time, the Lloyds. Ron’s father’s side of the family has an unfathomable number of siblings, cousins, generations, people. His father, Marvin, born in 1917, was the oldest of eleven children, and all of them but one have had children of their own. Many of those people have remained in the QC area. Long story short, huge family reunion. Don’t want to jump the gun on that, though.

The morning provided for some good visiting time with my parents, Clayton, Jan, and Ron. My mom insisted that there is a Southeast Asian community in Iowa and was affirmed by Jan (!). Empirical research to follow. [Ed. note: Josh says he didn't REALLY mean that there would be research. Really? He didn't think at the very least that I would do a quick search and find something to share? Come on, Chanin, you know me better than that. For the curious: http://www.iptv.org/iowapathways/mypath.cfm?ounid=ob_000159.]

Lots of talk about marathons, including the famous story of my mom giving some cramping runner a beer, saving his race, and getting props in a Honolulu Advertiser op-ed; my dad – a notorious head-down shuffler – describing what it felt like to run smack into a street sign and wind up on your ass; Clayton admitting to doing it too, though his happened on a training run, involved a low bridge rather than a sign, and didn’t quite knock him down. Good stuff.

Now on to the main event. Ok. I have to admit that the half-ass-ed writer in me is completely intimidated by the task ahead. Describing the day is a big job, cut out for someone with a better memory, sharper writing skills, and a firmer sense of comedic timing. Either way, you’ll get my level best, with the help of a third grade organizational device.

Who

This is clearly going to be the most challenging piece, what with 99 people from 11 states in attendance.* Comprehensiveness is out of the question.** The surviving members of the oldest generation (the 11) include: Louis (#4, 80-something), Lowell (#5, 80-something), Suzanna (#6, 80-something) [Ed. note: Or do we have Lowell and Suzy's order switched? And is Suzy with a "-y" or an "-ie"? Argh!], Barb (#10, 70-something), and Carolyn (#11, 60-something). All were in attendance and seemed in great spirits. Those who made it from the next generation (yes, there were Star Trek/Wars comparisons made), of which Ron is the oldest, included Clayton, Warren, Paul, Ellen, Melanie, Jay, Jim, Joe, Danny, Tom, Sue, Tim, Becky, Renee, Rachel, Scott, Mike, Phillip, David, Barney, Sarah, and Andy, the youngest [Ed. note: But the rest listed between Ron and Andy are not in correct age order. I couldn't pull that off myself.]. The third – Laura’s – is a bit more diverse in terms of their ages, and seems to be much more spread out geographically. Tons of little kids floating around as well, which probably means great-grandkids and 4G. Everyone, without exception, was incredibly kind, generous, and welcoming of me and my parents. Couldn’t possibly ask for more there.

Also worth noting how much they all seem to like each other, and how much they cherish being together. From 12:30 until we left at almost 6:00 pm there were four or five solid groups of people sitting with each other at various locations throughout and around the house. Old stories were the most common topic of convo, with no shortage of anecdotes, gossip, and jokes. And I saw at least three people (Ron, Clayton, and Melanie) taking notes throughout the day. Serious fun.

Where

The reunion/party took place at Al and Becky Zwilling’s house near Sherrard, IL (LVL: “Their address says Sherrard, but Dad says it’s not technically in the town of Sherrard. He thinks it’s unincorporated.”). A huge place in the middle of cornfields and other farmland, about 20 minutes from Clayton and Jan’s in Davenport, IA. Remote, beautiful. Very much the stuff of Small Town, USA.

The house itself was the perfect location for today’s events. Plenty of places to congregate and hang out: the long tables in the garage, the couches and chairs in the dining room inside, the TV room, the back deck, the front porch, the side porch, or the several folding/camping chairs set up out front, to name a few. I rotated between several, and talked with many. A sample of the day’s back-and-forth from my perspective:

Warren, the camera guy, talking about his mechanical engineering practice, telling old stories about throwing firecrackers at a pond known to contain skinny dipping girls, but resisting my several camera-related inquiries.

Ellen telling a story about getting stuck in the bucket (which was being used in leiu of a toilet) as a kid.

Melanie and her drill sergeant/football coach-style sign-in sheet/photo CD instructions, complete with clipboard (no whistle).

Listening to Jase discuss the finer points of large animal veterinary practices, all with a thick non-midwestern (southern?) accent, presumably acquired showing cattle at various state/county/etc competitions and while at college in Stillwater, OK.

Phil and Chris, Andy and Lisa, John and Johann, Laura and me all pigging out in the basement surrounded by Star Wars figurines, Lego spaceships, and running kids.

More of the Caroline and Barb show. Larry in fine form, as ever.

Ted’s story about the camper in the Badlands, angry about accidentally pulling the electrical cords out of his R.V.

What

Clearly an occasion of this magnitude calls for food. The spread was equal to the challenge. Heaping trays of hamburgers (and a casserole dish holding the lonely veggie burgers for the guest of honor) and hotdogs. Three kinds of mac and cheese, at least two jello-related salads, one based on fluff. Two taco salad/dips, two kinds of tortilla chips (scoops, classic triangles), ruffled potato chips, at least two veggie dip arrangements, cheese plates, and on and on and on. Certainly don’t want to focus on quantity alone: the food was all great.

Even more impressive: the dessert tables. Yes, plural. I counted seven pies (John Chanin: “I have never seen a stackable pie tray outside of a restaurant. Simply amazing.”), four cakes, several plates of cookies, brownies, lemon things, coconut. You get the picture. I had a lemon bar, a chocolatey-something else brownie, and a mint cookie. Gorge-worthy. Not to be missed: Larry eating buttermilk pie straight from the tin, several people going back again and again. At least an hour after the initial feeding, people start yelling about the two gallons of ice cream in the freezer, waiting to be attacked. John Chanin could only hold out so long, despite his greatest effort at self-control: a chocolate cone was clearly the necessary capstone.

The house offered several other gems, beyond the food. We all got supreme pleasure out of the “Christmas” room, a 10x10 storage room in the basement filled to the absolute brim with Christmas trimmings. In 2009, Becky claims to have put up 27 trees and has even greater plans for 2010, including an upside down tree and a Christmas tree chandelier. The rumor (semi-confirmed with a laugh by Becky) is that the 2009 trimmings were taken down just in time for yesterday’s shindig.

Further awesomeness: the “Pig” room. Becky and Al’s youngest son, Clay, Illinois FFA president emeritus, future Secretary of Agriculture, has chosen to bid his time showing hogs. And, by the look of things, he’s has considerable success. First place show ribbons adorn the walls of his basement bedroom, and prizes ranging from pig lamps to camping chairs dot the basement landscape. I covet the pig poster on his wall, and would have it framed and displayed prominently in our apartment quickly upon return. Universal hit, especially with LVL: bumper sticker reading something like “Vegetarians mean more pork product for me.”

How***

After several attempts at goodbye, Ron, Laura, mom, dad, and I made our exit. Ron at the wheel, we set a course for Mercer County, IL. As with most of the scenery we’ve taken in over the last few days, yesterday’s was gorgeous. Almost hypnotic to watch the corn stalks fly by and see silo after corn carriage after silo. Very easy to forget that there are rich histories and lives associated with each, many of which date to the mid-18th century. This is where Ron comes in.

In many ways, at least from the perspective of one outside observer, Ron, or “Ronnie” in the Lloyd family parlance,**** is really the keeper of the flame. His taste for history generally is quite impressive, but his passion for that of his family and his hometown is something to behold. I wish there were more space and time to recount the several vivid stories he has passed on over the last few days, both as a storyteller and tour guide. Suffice it to say that I’ve never been so interested in the lives of strangers. I very much appreciate the love with which the stories are delivered and the thrill on his face when others avail him of new ones. My mom too had a constant stream of great questions and really seemed to revel in the setting and clearly found Ron’s passion infectious.

Among the many rich facts and stories, several things stood out. First, how fleeting much of this all is. Though I am not a small town person, and haven’t have any of the same types of experiences that shaped Ron and Clayton, I really appreciate the pureness of it and the strength of the community it forms. Sadly, it feels like an old-time religion and like something destined to be lost as our society pushes toward urbanization and increased technology. In many cases small farms have been taken over by big ones, mom and pops are now chains, and fewer and fewer people beyond city lines. Quite a shame, in my view.

Second, the strength of Ron’s bond to the area, esp. Buffalo Prairie, his hometown. He knows who lives where, the state of each restoration project, and seems to have an anecdote about every person/structure in a 100 mile radius of his childhood home. I loved seeing his dad’s old bank, the barn they played around in as kids, and the shininess of the new corner store/deli (complete with electronic sign), the first of its kind. I had a great childhood and grew up in a place that remains very important to me, but there is clearly something different going on here.

Last, how affected these towns and this family have been by war. Many of the tails begin with or center around leaving for WWII, returning from Korea, preparing for Vietnam. It brought home to me the personal side of armed conflict and the lasting effects of our country’s current work in Iraq and Afghanistan. Clearly, this is the kind of region and the very of economic class that fuels our ‘voluntary’ army, and thus the types of communities that suffer the heaviest costs.

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If you can believe it, the day ended with Ron, Laura, and me stopping – mostly at my own insistence – for dinner. I stuffed myself at 1 or 1:30, but it was after 8 when we got back to the QC and I was hungry. What do you want from me? Noodles & Company (we felt justified in breaking the “no chains” rule by the late-Sunday night small-town outing)***** and Fat Tire/Newcastle did the job.

An odd/scary way to end a wonderful day: the dog fight-screaming-yelling coming from across the street. As soon as we opened the car doors at Jan/Clayton’s, we were stopped in our tracks by an incredibly harsh, loud, and ultimately pretty scary, racket. Exhausted, we listened for a minute and then continued inside when the commotion stopped. Hope everyone/thing came out ok.

*As of Tuesday morning, the “official count” (read: Warren) was 99. When we left yesterday, Aunt Eleanor said 115. I’m not sure whom to believe.

** For that (or the closest approximation), I highly recommend Ron Lloyd’s blog, Lloyd Stories (www.lloydstories.com).

*** As in “how we got there, how we got home.” A stretch, I know.

**** Perhaps THE running theme of this weekend has been nicknames. The Lloyd family is famous for its oddball nicknames. Not oddball in and of themselves, but largely owing to their mysterious derivations and unlikely fits. For example, Lowell = George; Marvin = Peterson; Harold = Skinny; Clair = Emil; Mike = Ike; Clayton = Snooks [or is it spelled Snoox?]; Andy = Gump. Anyway, lots of discussion about where various nicknames came from, who first thought of them, etc. Great fun. Also the source of torture for a would-be name-knower.

***** [Ed. note: I also decided that chains started in either of our home states don't count. Thank you, Noodles & Co, for being born where you were. I'm sure sometime in the next 9 weeks that exception to the rule will also come in handy when we're famished and there's a Chipotle nearby.]