"Metairie"

It’s a bit of a hike from Annapolis to the foothills of the Shenandoah mountains, but it is worth every minute and every mile to spend the day at “Metairie”.

Nearly every September since I joined the Band, Colonel Bourgeois has invited the Band out to his log cabin in the shadows of the Shenandoah. My first year, I had been in the Band roughly two months and was about ready to depart on Tour for the first time. It was a cool, drizzly day, my children were not yet six and two, and I really didn’t even have names of my fellow band members straight. My son, Jamey, not yet much of a talker, silently followed the Colonel about his tasks as he stoked the fire or swept puddles off the covered porch. The Colonel would turn and see Jamey, standing mutely with his hands clasped behind his back, and invite him to help hold the poker or the broom. It wasn’t until we said our goodbyes that Jamey smiled and waved from the security of my arms and whispered “Bye-bye, Colonel”.

When Jamey was almost four, he learned how much the Colonel liked gingerbread. Jamey insisted we make his favorite gingerbread men for the Colonel’s picnic that year. Jenna, Jamey, and I made a gingerbread man to represent each of the officers and drum major (complete with mace), plus a free-form Chesty for Mr. Hurley, who’s bulldog Molly was the current barracks mascot. The kids decorated each one accordingly, down to the color of the uniforms. (Let’s just say black frosting is not very appealing.)

The Colonel was tickled, and playfully told Jamey he would have to bring gingerbread every year. Jamey, being the literal child that he was, remembered this every year and insisted we bring gingerbread for the Colonel. (More often than not, the Colonel would spirit it away upon arrival, and I would lose yet another Rubbermaid container. Thank Heaven for Gladware.)

This year the weather was hot, hazy, and humid. As we rounded a bend for a view of the mountains in the distance, we could barely make out the farthest peaks. Humid, indeed.

When the Colonel saw us come around the corner of the house, he called to Jamey, laughing, “Did you bring my cookies? If you didn’t bring them you can’t stay!” Jamey smiled and held up the container (Gladware) of gingerbread cookies. The Colonel laughed and gave him a hug, only this time Jamey was the one bending over to hug the Colonel.

The numbers are no longer as large as the early years of the picnic, but it is still one of the best ways to while away a September afternoon. Many former band members still come, and some of the newer members come who only know the Colonel by reputation. All are made welcome. The Colonel always makes his fabulous jambalaya, and everyone brings a dish to share. As always, the desserts outnumber the side dishes, and the cold drinks are plentiful. There are chairs scattered in the shade, and possession of the hammocks is hotly contested among the small fry hoping for an adult to help swing it into the tree branches.

Dogs wander freely from person to person, looking for someone to scratch that persistent itch, occasionally pausing near the small child holding a hot dog temptingly at a convenient height. And, as if it were a tradition, one child will be the pied piper inadvertently leading others into the neighboring field that is home to the bull, who, luckily, is just far enough away to be oblivious. This usually generates a fair amount of activity on the part of the parents.

The picnic is a great time to catch up with friends, to watch the younger generation make friends, and to relax before the pace picks up. As the shadows begin to lengthen, it is time to hit the highway. The drive home always seems so much longer than the drive out, but the air conditioning feels good on my face after the humid, still air of the afternoon.