The Bowden Reunion

"The Bowden Reunion" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a poignant short story that explores themes of family, nostalgia, and the passage of time. Set in a small New England town, the narrative revolves around a family gathering that brings together various generations of the Bowden family. As the characters reflect on their shared history and the changes in their lives, the story captures the complexities of familial relationships and the bittersweet nature of reunion. Jewett’s lyrical prose and keen observations highlight the emotional richness of homecoming and the enduring bonds that tie family members together across time.

• Short story

								
It is very rare in country life, where high days and holidays are few,
that any occasion of general interest proves to be less than great. Such
is the hidden fire of enthusiasm in the New England nature that, once
given an outlet, it shines forth with almost volcanic light and heat. In
quiet neighborhoods such inward force does not waste itself upon those
petty excitements of every day that belong to cities, but when, at long
intervals, the altars to patriotism, to friendship, to the ties of
kindred, are reared in our familiar fields, then the fires glow, the
flames come up as if from the inexhaustible burning heart of the earth;
the primal fires break through the granite dust in which our souls are
set. Each heart is warm and every face shines with the ancient light.
Such a day as this has transfiguring powers, and easily makes friends of
those who have been cold-hearted, and gives to those who are dumb their
chance to speak, and lends some beauty to the plainest face.

“Oh, I expect I shall meet friends to-day that I haven’t seen in a long
while,” said Mrs. Blackett with deep satisfaction. “’Twill bring out a
good many of the old folks, ’tis such a lovely day. I’m always glad not
to have them disappointed.”

“I guess likely the best of ’em ’ll be there,” answered Mrs. Todd with
gentle humor, stealing a glance at me. “There’s one thing certain:
there’s nothing takes in this whole neighborhood like anything related
to the Bowdens. Yes, I do feel that when you call upon the Bowdens you
may expect most families to rise up between the Landing and the far end
of the Back Cove. Those that aren’t kin by blood are kin by marriage.”

“There used to be an old story goin’ about when I was a girl,” said Mrs.
Blackett, with much amusement. “There was a great many more Bowdens then
than there are now, and the folks was all setting in meeting a dreadful
hot Sunday afternoon, and a scatter-witted little bound girl came
running to the meetin’-house door all out o’ breath from somewheres in
the neighborhood. ‘Mis’ Bowden, Mis’ Bowden!’ says she. ‘Your baby’s in
a fit!’ They used to tell that the whole congregation was up on its feet
in a minute and right out into the aisles. All the Mis’ Bowdens was
setting right out for home; the minister stood there in the pulpit
trying’ to keep sober, an’ all at once he burst right out laughin’. He
was a very nice man, they said, and he said he’d better give ’em the
benediction, and they could hear the sermon next Sunday, so he kept it
over. My mother was there, and she thought certain ’twas me.”

“None of our family was ever subject to fits,” interrupted Mrs. Todd
severely. “No, we never had fits, none of us, and ’twas lucky we didn’t
’way out there to Green Island. Now these folks right in front: dear
sakes knows the bunches o’ soothing catnip an’ yarrow I’ve had to favor
old Mis’ Evins with dryin’! You can see it right in their expressions,
all them Evins folks. There, just you look up to the crossroads,
mother,” she suddenly exclaimed. “See all the teams ahead of us. And oh,
look down on the bay; yes, look down on the bay! See what a sight o’
boats, all headin’ for the Bowden place cove!”

“Oh, ain’t it beautiful!” said Mrs. Blackett, with all the delight of a
girl. She stood up in the high wagon to see everything, and when she sat
down again she took fast hold of my hand.

“Hadn’t you better urge the horse a little, Almiry?” she asked. “He’s
had it easy as we came along, and he can rest when we get there. The
others are some little ways ahead, and I don’t want to lose a minute.”

We watched the boats drop their sails one by one in the cove as we drove
along the high land. The old Bowden house stood, low-storied and
broad-roofed, in its green fields as if it were a motherly brown hen
waiting for the flock that came straying toward it from every direction.
The first Bowden settler had made his home there, and it was still the
Bowden farm; five generations of sailors and farmers and soldiers had
been its children. And presently Mrs. Blackett showed me the
stone-walled burying-ground that stood like a little fort on a knoll
overlooking the bay, but, as she said, there were plenty of scattered
Bowdens who were not laid there,—some lost at sea, and some out West,
and some who died in the war; most of the home graves were those of
women.

We could see now that there were different footpaths from along shore
and across country. In all these there were straggling processions
walking in single file, like old illustrations of the Pilgrim’s
Progress. There was a crowd about the house as if huge bees were
swarming in the lilac bushes. Beyond the fields and cove a higher point
of land ran out into the bay, covered with woods which must have kept
away much of the northwest wind in winter. Now there was a pleasant look
of shade and shelter there for the great family meeting.

We hurried on our way, beginning to feel as if we were very late, and it
was a great satisfaction at last to turn out of the stony highroad into
a green lane shaded with old apple-trees. Mrs. Todd encouraged the horse
until he fairly pranced with gayety as we drove round to the front of
the house on the soft turf. There was an instant cry of rejoicing, and
two or three persons ran toward us from the busy group.

“Why, dear Mis’ Blackett!—here’s Mis’ Blackett!” I heard them say, as if
it were pleasure enough for one day to have a sight of her. Mrs. Todd
turned to me with a lovely look of triumph and self-forgetfulness. An
elderly man who wore the look of a prosperous sea-captain put up both
arms and lifted Mrs. Blackett down from the high wagon like a child, and
kissed her with hearty affection. “I was master afraid she wouldn’t be
here,” he said, looking at Mrs. Todd with a face like a happy sunburnt
schoolboy, while everybody crowded round to give their welcome.

“Mother’s always the queen,” said Mrs. Todd. “Yes, they’ll all make
everything of mother; she’ll have a lovely time to-day. I wouldn’t have
had her miss it, and there won’t be a thing she’ll ever regret, except
to mourn because William wa’n’t here.”

Mrs. Blackett having been properly escorted to the house, Mrs. Todd
received her own full share of honor, and some of the men, with a simple
kindness that was the soul of chivalry, waited upon us and our baskets
and led away the white horse. I already knew some of Mrs. Todd’s friends
and kindred, and felt like an adopted Bowden in this happy moment. It
seemed to be enough for any one to have arrived by the same conveyance
as Mrs. Blackett, who presently had her court inside the house, while
Mrs. Todd, large, hospitable, and preeminent, was the centre of a
rapidly increasing crowd about the lilac bushes. Small companies were
continually coming up the long green slope from the water, and nearly
all the boats had come to shore. I counted three or four that were
baffled by the light breeze, but before long all the Bowdens, small and
great, seemed to have assembled, and we started to go up to the grove

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