My father came from a large family. His siblings in turn had kids. And now, they've mostly all had kids. When my grandmother died a few years back, grandkids and great grandkids each numbered in the 30s and there were even a few great great grandkids. Despite those large numbers, very few moved much beyond a single town in Newfoundland. The few of us that did are the oddballs.
In "Scatter" by Rosalie Kempthorne four siblings have all taken to the wind like seeds, like us oddballs. Reuniting then has a weird emotional effect. There's an almost bittersweet quality to it. There's a re-connection that everyone is grateful for, but also plenty of reminders why it's better that they have gone their separate ways.
I wonder how my family that stayed would interpret such a story. I'm sure the petty jealousies, judgments, and awkwardness is familiar to everyone but clearly we balance them differently against the value of staying.
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