Family Bonds and Ragout

I didn’t write a blog last week. I was hosting a family gathering, a reunion of sorts, and in this era of pandemic and isolation, it took all my focus and energy to be sure this gathering was worthy. Worthy of the people who would be gathering, celebrating, circling around a dining room table sharing a meal - and memories.

I am blessed to have all my siblings alive and well. We are a disparate group of folks, living not too far from each other, with lives that are sort of similar - but not so much. Eight years separate the oldest and youngest of the five of us, I being the oldest with two sisters and two brothers that follow. We grew up in the same small ranch home for nearly all of our childhoods, me leaving when I was 19 years old, and each sibling slowly exiting in turn, establishing lives and families of their own in turn. But we’ve always stayed in touch; not “close” by the standards of some families, but close enough to continue to care about gathering, sharing, being together.

The goal of this more-or-less annual reunion is not just the gathering of family, but also the sharing of a cherished and beloved family meal: a French Canadian “ragout” of varied meats cooked long and slow, wrapped in a deep brown gravy that is labor intensive to create, but oh! So delicious. I’m not sure if the deep joy of sharing this dish is so much about the dish, it’s unique notes of toasted flour, pork, chicken and beef celebrating a complex marriage of flavor and texture; or if it’s more about the memories of a shared childhood around a similar table in our childhood home, sharing the meal with whichever aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins could join. We had other relatives who made this traditional stew, but no one could make it better than my mom, and soon they all relented and simply waited for the invitation to our home for that once-a-year treat. And once a year was enough - as I’ve learned myself.

My mother never followed a recipe for this ragout; it was done all by memory and feel and taste. When she was in her late 70’s, I finally convinced her to let me make it along side her for a couple of years so I could write down the quantity of pork hocks, chicken breasts and beef to make the stew; how to brown the flour ‘just so’; how to make that velvety brown gravy that simply enveloped the meats in a sumptuous covering of flavor and texture that was divine. And I’ve been making the ragout for our family ever since. It truly is a labor of love, but one which I enjoy and cherish. I see it as a sacred act of blessing - a blessing of family with not only a special meal, but one that invariably evokes deep memories of family, of roots, of belonging.

And so last week, I was making ragout for 18 people, with my daughters and their families coming from their own homes to share in this special tradition, joining with my husband and I, my siblings and whatever cousins could join. It was a hectic time but a particularly sweet time as well. And as always happens with my boisterous family, the decibel level rose, the excitement rang, the energy of voices and laughter sounding like loud, rather cacophonous music - but, such sweet music to my ears! We checked in on lives, comparing experiences and future plans. We shared memories, we made memories. We told stories, we shared dreams. We laughed at the crazy times of our childhood; we were sobered by the shrinking numbers of aunts and uncles as we noted the recent death of one of my mother’s sisters; of 10 children, there are 2 left in that generation. As in all families, generations fade away to give room to the ones coming next.

Family is something I’ve sometimes taken for granted, but as I grow older myself, as I move into that strata of family that sits in that precarious position of “elder generation”, I have come to realize the precious gift of family, of roots, of identity. I recently read a story about a young woman who was adopted, obsessed with finding her birth mother, her family of origin, her “roots”. I didn’t understand her drive, her focus, just why she was so obsessed until I sat down at the end of that day last week, exhausted by the work of pulling off yet another “ragout fest”, and realized the deep joy of having reconnected with my family. I realized that not only my siblings, but now my children and grandchildren as well, all share a deep connection of family, of roots, of a shared ancestry, a common beginning with memories and experiences that bind us all together in a deep and visceral way that is hard to explain. I thought of that young woman in the story, and was overcome with such gratitude that I have family, that I know my roots, my story, my beginning.

To share a meal with family - especially extended family - is a sacred act; a sacrament, if you will - a visible sign of our connectedness, our common roots of beginning, of life, of character and faith and perseverance. There is a sanctity to bringing family together to continue those sacred bonds that must be continued and cherished, that should be shared with those coming forth, my children and grandchildren, and into the future. My daughters’ lives look different than mine and my husband’s did when we raised them; there is a broader genetic entwining, for one, and the lives of their children look different in so many ways than theirs did; it’s the way of the world, the evolution of who we are and whom we become that is as ancient as the mountains and the seas.

But regardless of how our lives change, and how our families ebb and flow like the tides, it is a blessing to share the celebration of family whenever we can. It is a privilege to honor and bless our families for what they bring forth from the past into the future; a recognition of a love that runs deep through the generations to bless each one in kind. And it is a true blessing to be part of passing those traditions forward to the next generation; to impart if only a piece of what has been given to us: tradition, family, love.

To recognize the bonds of family over a shared meal - especially one so rich in tradition and love - that is truly a great blessing.