All of my teens and 20's I lived in the "Valley of the Sun" (Arizona). In 1994 our then small family of six moved away to be closer to my parents and cooler temperatures. We'd recently had a summer with a high temp of 124 degrees. That sealed the deal. My parents had moved to Boise, Idaho in 1989 and from then on, my mother was relentless in her pursuit of getting us to move there as well. She'd mail me newspaper clippings with small town happenings and sent envelopes of pictures she'd take with her little Kodak instamatic. In the summer of '91 they sent us money for gas so we could load up our little girls into a rental car and make the 19-hour drive to visit them for several days.
We were smitten with everything about Boise. My parent's friendly neighbors, the seemingly endless city parks with large shade trees and walking paths, the 4th of July fireworks we were able to actually sit outside on the lawn with popsicles and not feel like we would melt faster than our frozen treats. We needed a city with a University and we greatly needed a change for so many reasons; we knew this was where we should be.
Spending the night before we left at my in-laws house just down the street, I had such a pit in my stomach knowing I was leaving the people who'd helped finish "raising" me. I adored my mother and father-in-law. I rarely went a day without seeing them; and I loved them as though they were my own parents. But I also knew that we couldn't stay where we were any longer. Our children were growing up and this was a change that we all knew was necessary.
Our fourth baby was only four months old when we made the move. My father and niece both traveled from Boise to Mesa to help us make the 19-hour trek north. I gave my mother and father-in-law long teary hugs and we said our "I love you's" and "good-bye's". Daddy, my husband and one of the older kids traveled in the U-Haul moving van. I drove behind in our mini-van with the other two kids; Jessica in the back seat with newborn Wyatt; she'd alert me when she could no longer pacify him with a binky and it was time to pull over and take a break. Of course no cell phones at that time, I'd drive up beside the U-Haul and signal that I needed to nurse the baby and let the kids run around a little bit.
The first time we stopped to re-fuel in Utah, I remember opening the car door and the rush of cool air come over my bare calves. With the shock of the shift in temperature I reached for a sweatshirt before stepping out to fill the tank. I looked over at my dad who was re-fueling on the opposite side of the pump. "Daddy, is this normal for July?! I'm FREEZING!" He smiled big...."Yes sweetie. This is normal. Don't worry you'll adapt."
We lived with my parents for four months. July-October of '94. It was a magical time. I felt safe. Still in the new-born fog of post-partem, my days were spent outside nursing the baby and watching the other three littles play and hung clean laundry and diapers on my mother's clothes line. I cooked dinner each night since Mama worked full-time at a fine jewelry store selling expensive diamonds to rich potato farmers. Daddy, though long-retired from the Park Service, still liked to keep busy and had a handy-man job at the local JC Penney. He'd come home in the early afternoon, get his glass of ice-water, his latest novel, and turn on the cable news to catch up on the drama unfold from the the OJ Simpson murder trial.
In the evening, after dinner, I'd often sit outside on the lawn with the neighbor lady and we'd watch the kids play in the cul-de-sac until the street lamps would flicker on. With day-light savings and being so far north it might be as late as 10:30 pm before literally dragging the kids in from off bikes and trikes, their bare feet black from playing night games in the street. After a quick bed-time snack and bath they'd be nearly asleep before their heads even hit their pillows.
When school started, I followed the lead of my parent's neighbor Susan and took my first foray into home-schooling. It had been such a magical summer; I didn't want that feeling of such connectedness to each other to end. I ordered text-books for 1st and 3rd grade and started going over phonics with 4 year old Conrad. We signed up for piano lessons and a 4-H club.
Then we moved into our first home. Just a few miles away from my parents, but it was an older neighborhood with next to no other children. Every day, looking out our front window I could see a young mom walking her two daughters down our street to Cole Elementary School, just one street from our house. Once, when I happened to be outside, they stopped and introduced themselves. Kay and her two daughters Nicole and Natalie. Kay said she worked at the school so she could be with her little girls. I felt an instant bond with her. She didn't belittle me for home-schooling but casually suggested I just check the school and the teachers out and see what I thought. I did. It was an incredible experience. The class sizes were so small. The teachers were great. The principle was fabulous. I enrolled Natalie and Elisabeth for 3rd and 1st grades. Elisabeth's teacher wasn't a good fit, and the principle happily moved her to another class. Kay and I are still friends to this day.
Natalie was able to graduate from Cole and start middle school before we moved away to Utah in 2000. Cole Elementary was torn down in 2008.
When UPS moved our family from Idaho to Utah, the company paid for movers to pack up our belongings and relocate them for us. They also paid for us to fly rather than make the drive. It was January and so the thought of flying vs. driving was a slightly less frightening to me. Ice on airplane wings or ice on the interstate. Choose your adventure I suppose. We were now a family of seven, and a very short flight with a potentially fussy baby won out.
Several years after we'd settled into our lives in Utah, my parents had now followed us here. They moved to a house not far from ours. We had a celebration for their 50th wedding anniversary. My bestie, Alisa and her family were living in Boise at the time. Always the most thoughtful of gift-givers, she went over to their old house in the cul-de-sac, walked onto the lawn and collected several large leaves from the giant maple tree. She framed three of the leaves; a green, a red, and a golden brown; marking the seasons of their lives together and presented it to them at their celebration. Both of their birthdays were in the fall and they married in the fall. It was a most appropriate and meaningful gift.
That was nearly twenty years ago. It feels like only yesterday.
The other day as I was driving home from the bigger city, and was approaching Provo Canyon, there was a semi-truck that had overturned and police were rapidly shutting the entrance to the canyon. My GPS diverted me, and because it was the middle of rush-hour I obeyed every turn it prompted me to take. Before I knew it, I was headed up the scenic Alpine loop. "Well.....I just bought groceries and the sun doesn't go down for another five hours or so, so here we go....if I get lost I will at least have some raw eggs, water kefir, and dried mandarin oranges to eat." (My Trader Joe's shopping list is always very odd).
I took the drive very slowly. Just because. This being alone and not able to rely on Dave made me feel slightly vulnerable but at the same time, it reminded me of when I was young and dumb. Seventeen years old, driving a stick-shift with just my hopes and dreams and optimism. No cell phone. No GPS. I rolled the windows down and put my arm out to let the sun beat down on it. The air was warm, but the sun was shining in a way that you can tell the change of the season is imminent.
I called Dave on my cell phone and told him I'd been re-routed. He said he could still see where I was on the app we share. With that bit of comfort I pulled over a few times to get some photos of the valley and the mountain range where our little cabin is.
I looked over from where I'd parked and saw a couple sitting on a rock looking at the view. Well.....mostly kissing in front of the view. Feeling a bit like an intruder, I got back in the car and drove the rest of the way up to our side of the mountain where Dave, Freya and my in-laws Ed and Fran were waiting for me.
Dave and I try to take a walk each evening after work. The hill behind our cabin is so steep, I'm glad it's the first part of our journey because otherwise I'd likely try and talk myself out of going. We stop at the top of the hill and look down at the rafters recently built on the addition.
Beyond on the opposite side of the mountain the greens are changing to reds and yellows. Our breathing regulates and we continue walking. I love to stop and take pictures. "Keep walking! I'll run and catch up with you!" Dave continues on only as far as we can still see each other.
There is a maple tree that has the most incredible crimson colored leaves. I take a picture of it, then I walk over and tug on a few of the brightest red ones and fan them out in my fingers. "Tomorrow they won't be this bright anymore....it goes so fast." I think I'll frame them to hang in the the addition.
