NORTHWEST ARKANSAS — They say, “You can’t go home again.” But our family does. Every time we have a reunion in June.

One special time we “went home again” was the year we all met at my brother Paul’s in Watango, Oklahoma. He lived in a two-story white frame house. Paul’s house was modern, with a nice kitchen with running water and a bathroom. Other than those differences, it was much like the farmhouse we grew up in west of Gravette.

The year we gathered at Paul’s was 1998. All my brothers and sisters were there except Bobby and Max, who had died. Mom was also gone. There were many nieces and nephews who joined us and we had a great time.

When we drove up that year in our motorhome, we parked in his huge lawn with big trees, just like I remembered our farm in northwest Arkansas. We immediately got on horses for a trail ride.

I actually got a horse all by myself. When we were growing up, there were so many of us kids we had to share horses and I don’t remember ever riding alone.

But this time, as I walked my horse past a huge garden (just like ours in the past) and went through a small forest, ducking the tree limbs, I felt like I was home. Before heading back we stopped to rest at a spring-fed creek and drank the cold water coming out of a tap. We always had cold spring water on our farm.

Later we climbed on a wagon filled with hay and Paul pulled us around with an antique John Deere tractor. (This time it was for fun, not to work in the hot hay fields). Our hayride took us past a shed filled with chickens and ducks. Goats and pigs and a newborn colt meandered outside a barn. When we drove past a small patch of tall corn I thought of those hot summers back when I was a girl, hoeing long rows of corn.

There was modern entertainment for the kidslike a trampoline and a wading pool. But there was also the rope swing tied to a tree. My five-year-old granddaughter spent most of her time swinging baby kittens under that tree.

Paul had set a refrigerator and chairs out on a huge porch, where we gathered for meals. He grilled steaks and burgers. I don’t remember eating like this when I was a child. But all the time we were there I felt I’d come home.

We began having family reunions in the 1980’s.

We’ve met in back yards, in parks and air-conditioned buildings (as we got older).

The highlight each year was a big auction. We’d collect stuff all year, or bring homemade crafts.

Our family was always competitive and no time was it more evident than when we were bidding.

Only one time did all 12 of us kids make it to the reunion at the same time.

That was the year we met at the city park in Sulphur Springs - the biggest gettogether we ever had, with over 100 attending. Usually there were about 60 and when it got to where only a couple of dozen attended we talked of disbanding.

Our family is so scattered, this year will be our last reunion.

I’m glad we had those times of togetherness. I became close to nieces and nephews, many I might never have met had it not been for our reunions. Our children became close, more like brothers and sisters than cousins. There have been deep friendships among them, strengthened by e-mails.

When Mom died we buried her beside Papa in Wann Cemetery. On that day one by one our cars traveled up the lane where we once lived. We tried to tell our children how it was back then, but the house is gone and all that’s left are the memories. Maybe, because of our reunions, they can begin to understand what it’s like to “go home again”.

Marie Putman, onetime Gravette resident, shares her thoughts with our readers twice every month.

Opinion, Pages 4 on 06/23/2010