We drive back to the farm every year On the Summer Solstice Everyone in the family Young Old Close Distant Meets for a reunion Of sorts

On the drive There’s no talking No radio No singing Just silence

Near sunset We gather in the old barn Stars start to peek through the holes in the roof The warmth of the day Never permeating the shadows of the barn We all look at each other blandly With tired eyes We know what comes next

Uncle Dan stands on a hay bale Just a farmer in plaid shirt and overalls Fresh mud on his rubber boots A bucket of flashlights is passed around Uncle Dan clears his throat

“OK, gang. You know the drill.” We file out the back of the barn Flashlights bobbing along as we head towards the woods At the back of the property

Approaching the family plot Only the crunching of twigs and dry leaves under booted feet Even the children are silent Old stone slabs mark the resting places of our ancestors Impossibly old and faded Covered with leaves and overgrown grass

We spread out The plot is large enough that none of us are within the distance our fingertips can reach Onto our knees on the oddly spongy ground

Flashlights turn off one by one Total darkness aside from the rising moon I can hear the sounds of my family around me Strangely soothing I reach my hand out and lovingly caress the stone that bears the name of my great-great grandmother, Louise They say I look like her

I hesitate just a moment longer Listening to the muffled grunts of my cousin to the left of me I grab handful after handful of soil Shoving it into my mouth Crying as I swallow The moist loamy grime Soon my duty will be complete Until next summer