unable to attend due to that country’s economy.  Like the first reunion, this reunion had to provide ample opportunity for everyone to meet and catch up – and believe me, three days is still not enough time.  Unlike the first reunion, we had a venue for only the first day – Fort Ross, making it the centerpiece and most critical day.

     Tuesday July 12, the day at Fort Ross was a tremendous success, due in no small part to John and Margaret, who organized that day with the Fort Ross staff and Mother Nature.  The barbecue was set up in the fort itself – our dream location – and the day was dazzling bright, sunny and cool with gentle breezes.  The ribs and chicken were delicious and washed down easily with an ample supply of wine.  Long separated cousins met and caught up, blathering away in fine style.  The youngest generation was surprised by how many they were – and practiced blathering as well.

     There were speeches, of course.  John P. Benitz tried valiantly as MC to hold everyone’s attention.  In a brief ceremony, John C. returned to Ranger Heidi Horvitz the keys to the fort.  The keys have been in the possession of the Benitz family for the past 140 years (how the heck did everyone get in?).  Lynn Rudy surprised the family when, in return, she presented us a branding iron with William’s mark, a totally unexpected delight – tried out upon John P., unheated, mind you.  We have been searching for an emblem, a baton of office as it were, to be passed from reunion to reunion.  This will do magnificently.  What could be more appropriate to the Benitz family – a bunch descended from estancieros [ranchers] – than William’s own cattle brand?

     As the eldest family member present, former RAF pilot Frank Watt fired the cannon – no casualties.  It was doubly appropriate, for in 1899 Frank’s mother, Hattie Benitz, then a young teenager accompanied her grandmother, Josephine, on her last visit to Fort Ross.  After the cannon firing, everyone drifted along through the very pleasant afternoon, still blathering, the younger folk to the beaches, the older folk to the Kolmer cemetery, a guided tour of the Benitz-Call house, or a visit to the orchards.

     The second and third days were filled with activities intended to foster friendships between family members: riding, canoeing, and kayaking for the more athletic, golf and wine tasting for the more laid back.  Canoeing was by far the most popular.  We ended the reunion on the third night with a dinner and dance that went until late – but not late enough for many.  We continued talking ever on at the inn, in our rooms or in the heated jacuzzi, extending into the wee hours of the morning our last prized moments together before the inevitable parting the next day.

     The next reunion will again be held in Argentina, possibly in 2010 or earlier, if the younger generations have their way.  We won’t return north until possibly 2015 – to Fort Ross, where else?  Until then, we hope you remember us fondly and have time enough to forgive our mishaps so that we may come back.  For our part, we had a wonderful time adding to the memories and enhancing the significance of Fort Ross to the family, particularly the younger generations. 

     How is it that Fort Ross, a Russian fort on the remote coast of northern California, is so significant to a family rooted in the pampas of Argentina?  Simple… we grew up with it… an imaginary place, far, far away in distance and time.  It’s there, in the family folklore, romantic stories passed down through the generations, jumbled up with Indians, gold, shipwrecks, wagon-trains, and Texas Rangers.  It is a surprise when we discover it actually exists, that it is not just a bed-time story, a fantasy of Dad’s fertile imagination.

     The significance of Fort Ross may seem peculiar to non-family members but definitely not so to us.  Simple again, it is the place where the family as we know it came to be.  It is where our ancestors – William Benitz and Josephine Kolmer – met, married, and prospered.  It is where William made his first fortune and where Josephine bore all their children.  As a result every one of us, their descendants, has an ancestor born at Fort Ross.  It has become a key component of the family identity that has kept us, the family, linked through four, even five, generations. We are now scattered around the globe, yet we remain in contact, tenuous at times, but we at least know of each other.  Even if we have never met, we know vaguely what each is doing.  And most of us will at some point in our lives make the pilgrimage to Fort Ross. 

     At the Benitz 2000 reunion in Argentina, great-great-grandson John Benitz announced he would organize the next reunion at Fort Ross – he didn’t qualify it, he didn’t have to.  In the eyes of the family, it was the only place the reunion could be held in North America, none other was even suggested or mentioned.  The Benitz 2005 organizing committee that took shape was composed of third cousins living in Hong Kong, Miami, and Toronto (born in Argentina and Canada).

     For us, visiting Fort Ross is a revelation. Some of us have read Uncle Alfred’s biography (he was born at Fort Ross, almost drowned at the beach there, as well), fewer have read William’s letters.  Yet, we know some of the history and visiting helps sort out fact from fiction.  Fort Ross is much smaller than what our imaginations had led us to believe (Hollywood stockades with John Wayne on the ramparts).  The farmers and ranchers amongst us look at the dry grass on the hills and think of cattle carrying capacity… What?  Potatoes you said? Where?  The city dwellers take in the scenery and wail why oh why did he sell!! (Read his letters, ask the farmers.)  We are also humbled to discover that our family’s ownership of the fort is not quite as depicted in our family folklore.  The Russians built it; the Call family owned it for a hundred years.  We and others are squeezed into a few years between them.  All the modifications and improvements made by William and Josephine are long gone, including his orchard, the victims of time and lack of historical relevance.

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