Today, Nov 2, is Día de los Muertos, or All Souls Day, or All Faithfully Departed Day, as I believe it is officially called now. Whatever the name, it is a time to draw near to our loved ones who have died and to seek their presence in memory and ritual.
A ritual I’ve come to love since marrying a Texan is the ofrenda. Ours includes a picture of my grandfather Nick Barzetti, aka the Ole Buck, walking down a wooded path next to my aunt and Godmother, Valerie Barzetti, aka CC2000 (my family loves nicknames). Cutty Sark and venison jerky sit next to the Ole Buck, while Swiss Miss and Lizano sauce take up residence with AuntVal. In the spirit of Trail Notes, I think I’ll add a Rapala fishing lure for the Ole Buck and a roll of 35mm film for CC this year because these two ancestors of mine instilled in me a deep and abiding love of the outdoors. Which brings me to a second ritual, the Spirit Hike.
Whether it’s the thin places of the Celts or the vision quests of Native Americans, there is a mystical understanding that certain times and certain places exist where the veil between life and death is porous. Sometimes these are universally sacred places like graveyards or headwaters, but more often than not, they are times and places of familial anamnesis (performative memory) like sunrise at a fishing hole or sunset at a scenic overlook. And all we have to do to draw close to our dearly departed is to go to those kinds of spots at those kinds of hours and be present.
So while the Ole Buck taught me how to fish in a reservoir off a game trail in rural Connecticut, I’ll still go looking for him today as I wander the trails of Eleanor Crook Park and toss a line in the San Marcos River with my daughter. Similarly, I can’t help but feel closer to him as I catch a glimpse of a seasoned 8-pointer on the Beatrice Trail in Lower Purgatory. If I pay close enough attention, I can still feel him walking alongside me.
The same is true for Aunt Val, who was an accomplished nature photographer and conservation editor. She was that person who insisted on shutting off the TV and dragging all the kids outside to watch a thunderstorm from the front porch. She was also that person who, in her final days with a brain tumor, invited all of her friends and family out to the Bitterroot Mountains of Montana to have a farewell hootenanny with her. It was there that she told us all that if we ever needed to talk to her, we just needed to find the closest dragonfly and whisper.
Last Saturday morning, as our much-needed rainstorm ebbed away, I dragged my kids away from Paw Patrol and made them come watch the thunderstorm with me. We grabbed some tacos from M&Ms and headed for City Park, where, well…a picture is worth a thousand words. So on this All Souls Day, when you’re finished with the ofrenda, go for a Spirit Hike and spend a little more time with the old bucks and dragonflies of your family.
