Latest Articles by Sarah Canice Funke
The tradition of gathering Forestgater folks at the Funke Farms for a Barn Dance stretches at least back into the mid-90s, quite possibly all the way back to Grade 6 or 7 (for me). The festivities started as a Halloween alternative, but weather considerations have pushed it further and further summerward. Even so, the participants in the tractor hayride last night braved gently falling snowflakes.
The Funke Farms Barn Dance is more technically a Garage Dance, but such terminology hardly sounds folksy. This event is an excuse for my dad to have a clean garage once a year, as the family moves out the vehicles and sweeps the floor. One year we strewed woodchips on the ground in an attempt to authenticate the experience, but too many people suffered from asthmatic sorts of reactions, so now it's just the plain concrete that supports the heels of innumerable toe-tapping reelers. Those who desire genuine barning can go visit the one out back and pet the llamas.
The Barn Dance has been the source of much excitement and anxiety over the years. Will anyone ask me to dance? Is it okay for girls to ask guys to dance? Will people think I'm ugly if I just dance with a girl? And so and so forth. But as one grows past the stressful drama of middle school and enters the stressful drama of high school and then leaves for the stressful drama of college and then matures into the stressful drama of post-graduate life, one realizes one thing: there is no one thing to realize.
Except that I've had some profoundly fun times with the friends who've shaped my childhood and I miss seeing everyone got up in prairie/cowboy garb. I miss standing at the end of our 1/2 mile driveway, waving at the arrivals as the cars steadily pile up along the road. I miss the potluck suppers. I miss watching the awkward stages of the Chicken Dance (traditional first dance of the evening), as newcomers warm up to the idea, and we decide we can finally be crazy with each other. I miss the static on the old 45s and the caller's instructions miked over. I miss dancing with people from kindergarten to senior citizen. I miss keeping the kids from falling off the haybales.
My dad sent me a piece of all that. The clip hardly does justice to the event. But it's a piece of home. My home. And I share it.
Starring various Johns, VanderHarts, Raders, Culbertsons, Odells, and my own sister.
Posted by funke at 23.09.06 13:33 | TrackBack | Posted to Colorado=HeavenWe did start w/ the Chicken song, then Hokie-pokie. We were cracking up about the old turntable. We didn't get Amos Moses, though (too bad... I missed the alligator line). And Mrs. John and the Rader family stayed and cleaned up with us (bless them!).
Posted by: Big P little a... squared at 24.09.06 0:29The first time I ever saw your Dad he was wearing a cowboy hat to church with a flier for the barn dance stuck in it.
Posted by: Virginia at 24.09.06 22:56I remember that encounter, too. It's funny how which day you chose to visit a church for the first time will cement a radically different first impression in your mind. If you had come the week before or after, you might have thought my dad was a completely normal, run-of-the-mill meeting-attending building-fixing engineer-minded man. But instead you got to meet him in his advertiserial attire. Come to think of it, I'm surprised he didn't have fliers stuck in his boots and front pockets, too. Within Forestgate circles, my dad is well-known for his humourous announcing abilities. But you wouldn't have known that if you had come a different day...
Posted by: funke at 25.09.06 12:36PS Any Forestgate people who read this: why aren't the Barans there????
Posted by: funke at 25.09.06 12:38