Family Reunion... Midwestern Style

Road trippin'!

What do you do when a "family reunion" is called for, but the family in question is spread all over? Meet 'em in the middle! The middle of the country that is. Such was the case this past July 4th week when Gathrights from East and West converged on The Cottonwood Ranch in (round about) central Nebraska. Set on a couple thousand acres, a ribbon of the Platte River sliding through, the property is a legacy of Katie's Dad's family (The Petersons) who homesteaded back in the late 1870's. A carefully protected balance has been created between the farmers who work the land (corn, wheat, soy bean, etc.), the various family members who visit each year, and the abundant wildlife that flourishes about the woods and riverbank.

 For the gaggle that comprise my family, most all of whom hail from the Bay Area, it was an opportunity to eat big steaks, drink many a cold beer, roam freely with thoughts, and lounge gratefully in beach chairs set in the flow of the Platte. The consistently 100+ degree heat made the latter a necessity. When even the river wouldn't do, we'd immerse in a large, round metal "horse tank", fed icy well water pumped by the rooster-tale windmill pictured. Just push aside the numerous beers and odd watermelon or two, and soak as long as your heart (among other things) could take it. Ahhhhh!

Buttermilk soaked then fried chicken.

 An added benefit was the inclusion of members of Katie's Mom's family(The Belschners), who settled in the area not long after her Dad's. They joined us to celebrate the 4th, freshly ground burgers and a selection of house-made sausages in tow. Originally opened in 1892 as a classic "general store", Belschner Custom Meats is overseen by 85 year old patriarch Uncle Jim, and the steady hand, and strong back of his grandson Casey. They graciously and patiently welcomed, toured, and endured a parade of Gathrights eager to wonder about the "store". Then, we all got together to celebrate our Independence with b-b-q, cold beverages, remarkable baked goods (Cousin Shawn's rhubarb pie!!!), and some serious river sittin'. A lazy and perfect way to spend an afternoon, plopped in a beach chair set in the river flow, only stirring to refill the glass or see if maybe one more piece of something yummy could squeeze into an already protesting belly.

The principal suspects + Marilyn

 As most of our family are city dwellers, the raw beauty of the the ranch seemed to captivate. Shimmering cotton woods, sweeping river grasses, along with the Platte herself serve as home to deer, rabbits, coyotes, bald eagles, hawks, quail, pheasant, wild turkeys, and (in season) ducks and Sand Hill cranes. One night at dinner we watched a massive "Tom" turkey zigzag his way along the opposite bank only to be followed 15 minutes or so later by a deep red and brown coyote, making the same exact twists and turns. The following sunrise a female coyote made her way through the shallows and a  string of sandbars, pups tagging closely behind. Each evening we'd head out to walk off dinner, the ritual closing of the main gate augmented by the swelling moon. For those a bit reluctant, the small John Deere was employed, outfitted with trailer bearing two long reclaimed "bench seats", giving better vantage of the sea of fire flies (lightening bugs) swimming over the darkened alfalfa fields.

Enough bacon on that "baker"?!

 Picnics were packed for hikes down river to "deep water", not so deep in this dry year, but satisfying none the less. Cool water and colder beers (You see the pattern developing here?!) kept pace with whatever leftovers we put together. Our shaggy little pup, bravely venturing in the water for the first time, learned to swim... ehr survive! No doubt emboldened from trips along a trickle of stream (all of 3 inches deep) near our new North Berkeley cottage, she'd launch herself in whatever water she could. When her trotting led to high-stepping, then to being swept away by deeper flow (much to the concern of my wife), Honey didn't disappoint. Although exposed when wet for the little skinny that she is, her spirit seemed lifted by the accomplishment which was repeated many times in the day's that followed. After several hours, the heat and sun would encourage us homeward, not before combing a finger or two of slow moving river for agates, the prizes washed down by water and time.

 Naps would replenish, and then it was time to cook: steaks of various types (of course), roasted pork loin and whole garlic, fried chicken, roasted chicken, chicken tacos, and even pizzas. There was corn on the cob, found easily from local farmers, along with creative interpretations of the classics: cole slaw, baked potatoes, three bean and potato salads. Wine that had lined nearly all our suitcases flowed, family stories soon followed, and glasses were raised to our folks now both passed. In the last of the golden light, the Platte set in orange and gold, we'd summon the courage to ease some icy water melon into full middles. Even better were the s'mores fests, done around drift wood fires, where adults were hard to tell from the kids; laughing, mouths full and smeared in chocolate, licking sooted marshmallow from fingers.
 Families are never perfect, but we somehow managed to strike the delicate balance between fine meals, a stunning location, and small doses of family drama. No, not all the fireworks were reserved for the 4th, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. You love 'em, wrestle with 'em, then love 'em some more.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com