JUNETEENTH, SUMMER, and SISTERHOOD
It was a packed weekend, wasn't it? Juneteenth, Summer Solstice, Father's Day. Each deserving of its own spotlight. I try to do them justice here while still holding space for a personal grief. June the 12th my sister Suzanne crossed that great divide, stepping peacefully into an eternity where beauty and tender love reign. One of her last words was "Daddy" so I'm pretty sure she's been reunited with our wonderful Dad. I hope this musing can also be a Happy Father's Day. A recognition of the special love that comes from a father. I am heartbroken but buoyed by my time with my sister in early June. Suzanne came to visit me in Richmond the weekend of June 5th before we traveled to see more family in the Outer Banks. Accompanying me to Charles City to deliver rental bikes and baskets, Suzanne's health was not what it was the last time she was with me at Westover Church (see photo). Tobacco, that very crop that traveled down the turbulent waters of the James River, giving Virginia the possibility of forming a true settlement by 1619, the same waters in the same year where the first Africans would wade from the darkened hulls of ships to pick that tobacco against their will, would ensnare yet another set of lungs whose breath was like my own. My dad, emphysema, 1980. My sister, lung cancer, 2020.
When we gather at Westover Church during our 'Signature Ride', a 14-mile round trip guided bike excursion that begins at Upper Shirley Vineyards, we tell a story about the abolishment of slavery in England, and a link that exists between that historic moment in 1807, a slave trader, a conversion, and a famous hymn that would become a favorite gospel spiritual. It would be fifty-eight years before Juneteenth was celebrated in the United States in 1865, marking the date Union soldiers arrived in Galveston, Texas with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free; shockingly, two and a half years after Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This General Order #3 was written:
"The people of Texas are informed that in accordance with a Proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired laborer."
It's about time we have a national holiday to recognize the freedom of enslaved Americans and that we not fear speaking about our history, all our histories. I am looking forward to weaving Juneteenth into the fabric of this bicycle tour, that has always had at its heart a recognition of the uncomfortable truths of our history, and the contributions of all Americans, regardless of race. I want to find and tell more stories of the brave men and women of color who worked and toiled, yet through the long nightmare of slavery and oppression still sang and loved along this stretch of the James River. I often think of the love that existed on these shores between people, bound or not, in the 1600s, the 1700s, the 1800s. Love that wedded an indigenous young woman to an Englishman. Love that may have taught a young black boy to read by candlelight, huddled in secret, night after night; or a young white girl, how to heal a wound, led by African wisdom, native herbs, and dark, velvet hands. Love that paved a pathway to freedom on the Underground Railroad. I think of the love displayed by Harriet Tubman's father in the movie, "Harriet" filmed along the James River. Love that existed in the midst of hardship and despite turbulent waters of unrest. Love that was present in the 1900s, between Richard and Mildred Loving, and love that here in the 2020s we must affirm for each and every Virginian and American. Love that we must give-- over judgment and criticism. Love so fierce and bold and connected that our news media finally has to report its profound reverberations. A love that we must recognize requires us all to exercise a bit of grace. Amazing Grace.
Some of my earliest memories of my sister Suzanne are of her in summer. She loved to be barefoot. She loved the sun. She was always so natural and free. As a little girl, I remember thinking Suzanne, who was 18 years my senior, was so beautiful, with her long black hair, her deep brown eyes, her tan figure perfect in summer fashion.
When Suzanne and I arrived with the bikes, I picked magnolias for her, as many as I could gather, from the old tree in front of Westover Church. I felt a poem forming, something about climbing the magnolia tree with fervor, stripping it of its blooms so I could fill the car with perfume, to light my sister's face with waxy evergreens and the creamy glow of moonlight, something about a frantic bid to intone summer's symphony. A rush to give her a taste of her favorite season. And there is the truth of it. It reaches past our skin color, past our history into our hearts and into our shared humanity. How many of us, faced with the fragility of a loved sister or brother's life, a friend's life, the life of a parent - a mother, a father, wouldn't want to bring them as much peace and joy as possible, to bring them moonlight and sunshine and summer in a moment.
As we were driving to the beach a couple of days later, windows down,1970s music serenading us across the causeway, Rocky Mountain High by John Denver came on the playlist. My sister, who had not spoken above a whisper for much of the ride began tapping her foot and singing the words to the song. I'll never forget that feeling of joy, the freedom of the wind in our hair, the freedom of the water and the bridge, that almost summer feeling, and the feeling of love for the woman beside me who was a sister, a mother, a friend to me for my whole life. Kind of like the freedom found on a bike ride on a sun-dappled bike trail. I'm so glad Suzanne was able to experience our Signature Sister Ride, created because she was coming to visit with her best friend back in October of 2017. In her honor Basket & Bike is bringing Sister Ride back, so mark your calendars for Monday, September 7, Suzanne's birthday the date she would have turned 69. We'll pedal the Virginia Capital Trail, listen to some John Denver, picnic by the river, and collect late summer memories in our bike baskets, just so we can give them out again where it might be needed most. I know that Suzanne was just the kind of person who did that, the kind of woman who gave out summer and sunshine and moonlight to everyone she met. I will miss you my sweet, lovely sister.
