Phil Major, Publisher

Much like the palette of our own lives, the countryside seems to be changing daily – more green, more vibrant and variety of colors.

And with longer hours of sunlight, we have more opportunities to enjoy it.

We have been traversing these highways and byways for so long that the earliest memories are distant and faint.

And soon we will make a trip that has become all to familiar.

Tucked into the far southwest corner of Arkansas, in the first community you come to after leaving Texas going east, sits a serene cemetery appropriately occupying the couple hundred yards between the Methodist and Baptist churches.

And scattered throughout, though principally in the Methodist end, generations of my mother’s side of the family are buried.

We have made that trip in all seasons, and will trek there again in the coming days.

Though we have also traveled there for happier occasions when family reunions were a regular occurrence, lately it seems we make it back only to bid farewell. Such will be the case this time as we lay to rest the family matriarch – the eldest aunt.

She assumed that mantle when her mother – my grandmother – passed away in 2005, as my Mom, the eldest of the four sisters, died all too young from cancer in 1996 and never assumed that role officially.

The roadsides will no doubt be aflame with color, which may help ease the pain of loss.

The tall trees will once again beckon.

We will gaze upon the crepe myrtle planted more than 20 years ago to honor our mother. Perhaps it will be budding out by then.

Those who have remained in the area will serve as our unofficial hosts, as the cousins and second cousins reconnect and share family updates.

It’s a tiny community and, like many others, was once much more vibrant. The little museum housed in the small strip of remaining ancient downtown buildings houses many family relics.

I have not nearly the space to do justice to my aunt’s story: the coach, the wilderness tour guide, the guest ranch host, the world traveler, always quick to argue politics, almost disrupting Thanksgiving one year when another family member had a, shall we say, different viewpoint.

She never had children, so her nieces and nephews served in that capacity de facto.

When we were young and knew she had been overseas, we always anticipated something exotic in our Christmas packages.

Her Hill Country home is filled with knick-knacks from those travels. It’s a lot to dust.

I’m not sure how many more times we will take that sentimental journey. At least a few, I assume, and whatever the season.

Each will remind us, much like those towering trees, of our roots – strong and sturdy, something the casual traveler would likely miss. But for us it will be a solemn connection to what really matters.