Apple Valley, Barrow, Beulah Colorado, Flagstaff, Home, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Moving, Nostalgia
My old mentor, Willard Rollings, used to begin his history classes by asking students to introduce themselves. He always wanted to know what we called home. He would add that he didn’t mean where we lived. He wanted to know where our home was, and those were often two very different things. I don’t recall anyone who failed to get his point. The question always bothered me a little, probably because home has always been a bit of a problem for me.
I’m something of a military brat. My father retired from the army when I was very young, but he seemed to keep the habit of finding a new job every 4 years or so for quite awhile. I have just a few memories of Dad while he was in the service, but I remember quite distinctly the pattern of moving (along with every military base near each of our homes).
I spent my first four years in San Antonio, Texas. Naturally, my memories of Texas in those days happens to a bit thin. At four years old, my Texas had been the block we lived on. I remember that and maybe a steak-house whose name escapes me along with a small vacation house on LBJ Lake.) I remember fishing at the lake, and I remember all manner of snakes. I remember lots of little bits and pieces from San Antonio, but not much in detail. I also remember learning to string beads from Mom while we still lived in Texas.
I was stringing beads one day when Mom and Dad said it was time to go. I thought we were just going out for dinner or something, but we just kept right on going. I sat in my Dad’s old Volkswagon thinking about my string of half-finished beads sitting in a dish on the dining room table, wondering when I would get back to them. I was still thinking about them as great big white fluffy snow-flakes began diving into our windshield on our way into Beulah, Colorado. I never did get back to those beads. The next day my older brother and sister and I made a snowman in our new back yard. Scott kicked it over karate-style and Colorado became my new home.
We left Colorado in the middle of my third grade, but part of me stayed behind. Four years in Apple Valley California and 3ish years in Rawlins, Wyoming hadn’t changed anything. We finally settled in Boulder City, Nevada, just outside of Las Vegas when I was 14 or 15. (The math here doesn’t quite compute, so some part of my memory must be off a click.) I rather liked Boulder City, but was I ready to call it home? Or was home still in Colorado?
I think I was the only member of my family that connected with Beulah, Colorado. Mom and Dad had nothing but bitter memories of the place. For me, though, it’d been 30 acres of ranch-land. We probably didn’t make very good use of it, and by ‘we’ I mean the family as a whole. We just weren’t ranchers. Me? I had no problem figuring out what to do with the place. It was a battlefield. Several battlefields, actually. Some World War II era, some Vietnam, and some from the old west. It was also a race-track. It was swimming pool and a basement with a pool table. It was a lovely fireplace. It was two streams I would fill with fleets of sticks counting as battleships. (You’ll have to excuse me. As a child I was quite the war-monger.) It was a place to ride horses. It was a place you could shoot a gun (or a bow and arrow) out in the back yard. I loved that ranch, so I loved Colorado. All those years, I had never stopped thinking of it as home. My family had long since shaken the dust from their feet. I hadn’t.
So there I sat in Rollings’ class with a ready answer to his question, except for one thing. I’d been living in Boulder City, NV, for over a decade at that point, and I couldn’t really say that I hated the place. It might just be, I thought as I contemplated my answer, that Boulder City (and the whole Vegas area) was actually home.
I learned just how much Vegas had become my home as I spent 3 years studying in Chicago. Whenever people asked me where I was from, I had no trouble answering them with ‘Las Vegas’. Of course I would never have said I was from Las Vegas to anyone who lived in Las Vegas. I was actually from Boulder City. But in Chicago that is a distinction without a difference. So, I would tell people I was from Vegas. Most importantly, I found myself feeling a bit of satisfaction saying that, the kind of satisfaction you get telling people about your home. Sitting there in Chicago, I think I finally let go of Colorado and came to claim the Vegas area as my own. It wasn’t just where I’d been living all those years. It really was home.
I spent three years in Fort Defiance, Arizona, on the Navajo Nation. Oddly enough, I lived in a graveyard, a fact I hadn’t noticed when I first moved in. My neighbor let me know about it one day as he told ghost stories and pointed at the stones around the neighborhood, stones which were actually gravestones that had been tipped over. Some of these graves dated back to the era when Fort Defiance really was a Fort and relations between Navajo and whites were a lot more tenuous. I never had the nightmares over those graves that my neighbor did, but I always thought it an odd thing to live in a neighborhood built on a graveyard. It’s a little more odd given Navajo attitudes about the dead. In any event, this was an interesting time and place, but it was also a difficult time. I can’t say that I ever thought of this place as home. I miss it sometimes, but not like I miss my homes.
Three years on, I moved to Flagstaff, Arizona, I still worked on the Navajo Nation, commuting to Chinle, Arizona to teach classes for Diné College. That was a hell of a commute! I think I totaled 500-600 miles a week, usually travelling out at the beginning of the work-week and coming back at the end. My brother always wondered why I didn’t travel around the area more; why I didn’t want to go to Phoenix this weekend or Sedona on that one. The truth was, I was tired of traveling by the time I got back to Flagstaff. I loved my weekends, and those few full weeks when I could afford to just stay home. Mostly, I loved my new home.
It didn’t take me long to embrace Flagstaff. Flagstaff was full of bike trails, and I took to them like a fish to, …well actually I was never very good at mountain biking. That didn’t stop me from getting out there and collecting a few scars. I rode almost religiously every other day. Flagstaff was where my cats would mug me whenever I came home and try to get me to play when I was packing up to go. Flagstaff was also a few nice restaurants, a game store (two at one point), an occasional trip to Charlie’s Tavern, and a few other things. Flagstaff was home for a little over ten years. In fact, Flagstaff was the first time I ever thought of the place I actually lived as my home. I still had a foot in Vegas (family) and another on the Navajo Nation. I think it was while I was living in Flagstaff that I developed the habit of leaving my clothes in a suitcase, but with all the local travel, I felt pretty well grounded. I had a home, and it was rarely more than a half days drive away from me at any given time.
So, why did I leave Flagstaff? Well, in a word, ‘money’. When gas hit $4.00 a gallon, I realized I’d have been better off giving up my vehicle and working at McDonald’s than continuing the big commutes. I didn’t want to move out of Flagstaff either, and I didn’t particularly want to move back out onto the reservation So, I quit my job and tried a few different things, none of which worked out. Life in Flagstaff soured. The place was still great, but my experience of it was growing more than a little bitter.
Eventually, I ended up in Houston, Texas, teaching at a private school. I liked Houston. Could have made a go of it, but I didn’t stay long enough to make it home.
I still remember getting a message from Ilisagvik College in Barrow, AK. It had been at least 6 months since I’d applied to work there and now they wanted to interview me. I know why now, but at the time, it was just inconvenient. I think I actually started writing out a ‘thanks-but-no-thanks response. Then I thought “what the Hell!” and wrote something else. Long story short? Barrow is now home. And yes, it’s home in the sense that Rollings used the term. It’s where I belong. It’s where I’m comfortable. It’s where my moral compass points whenever I am somewhere else. I could rattle on about it a bit, but honestly, Barrow is all over this blog. Suffice to say that I now call Barrow home.
…only there is an odd twist to it. I still think of the American Southwest as my home. It’s where I want to go whenever I get a chance to get out. Barrow is pretty isolated. Much as I love the place, I love it a bit more when I come back to it. I think most folks who live there would agree, you have to get out from time to time. Whenever I do, I find myself looking to get back to my old haunts. I’m not too particular about it, really. The whole southwestern region has become a comfort to me. Nevada? Arizona? New Mexico? Get me out there where I can smell sage or see red cliffs and I am happy. Feed me a not-particularly authentic taco and I am even happier. The Southwest feels like home, and that home feels just a bit better knowing that it isn’t entirely an escape from the place I actually live. This isn’t like those years of wishing my family were still back in Colorado while they were so happy to be out of it. When I go back home to Barrow now, I’ll be happier to be there. It makes it just a little easier to enjoy visiting my old turf.
So, what has me traveling down this very self-indulgent road? Nostalgia to be sure, but honestly, I’m not sure that this post is entirely about me. It may seem ironic given the me-ness of what I’ve written so far, but I think what triggered it was my girlfriend, Monica. I have spent the last month with her, here in Los Angeles. (She would say, San Dimas, but to me this is L.A.) Moni has lived in this area pretty much since she was a teenager when her family first came up from Mexico City. It’s definitely her home.
When I go back in August, Moni plans to go with me. In the meantime, she has been visiting old friends and taking me to some of her favorite places. In part, Moni is introducing me to all the people in her life and in part she is telling her friends and family ‘goodbye’. We didn’t get to everyone (dammit!), but I’ve met enough of Moni’s people, and spent enough time with them that for the first time I have a sense of what this move means to her. In the last month I have eaten dinner with Moni’s family, partied with some of her high school friends, traveled a bit with others, eaten at their favorite restaurants, and listened to a good deal of their favorite music. I’m starting to get a sense of the world Moni will be leaving to go up to that icebox I call home. I now have a sense of what she will be missing, and the thought of taking her away from it, away from all these people, is a bit daunting. She wants to go, so she is excited, but she is also leaving a lot of people behind, and so she is also sad. A few paragraphs back, I looked up to find Moni crying. So now I feel bad too. I’m excited to have her coming with me, but I’m also nervous. This is her home, and I am taking her from it. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s not something to be taken lightly.
People can live almost anywhere, but some places become home.
I wonder if Barrow will be home for Moni? I expect she is wondering about pretty much the same thing. Hope doesn’t come easily to me. Thankfully, it comes easier to Moni. She is braver than I am. I wonder how she will cope with my cats? How she will like some of the native foods? How she will cope with the cold?
…whether she will find in Barrow something she can call home?
May it be so. 🙂
What a life! Better to have lived in all those places than not. I too moved a lot. You know home, it’s an inner feeling.
Patti Barfield said:
Hi Northie, I enjoyed reading about your homes & could identify with your travels as my family lived in most of these states (except Arizona and Alaska).We even lived in Apple Valley ! The big northern adventure was in Red Deer, Alberta. My formative years were near Houston,TX. and the warm southern people & climate were a far cry from Alberta. I understood the phrase “culture shock” as soon as I deplaned, feeling foreign,at sea, in a blindingly white land, COLD. Instinctively I withdrew.My husband was a Canadian and taught me basic survival actions like breathe through your nose so you don’t freeze your lung tissue and that muclucs are preferable to high heels in the deep snow. It is frightening to be dependent for your very survival, even when you are loved. I hope you will be patient in the hand holding Moni will need. You seem to have a warm heart and much sensitivity and these will be anchors for her in the safe harbor of your arms. Wishing you both a safe journey and happiness in your forever home.
Dana R said:
Beautiful post — I know it sounds cliche, but home is where the heart is … so, yes, Moni will find “home” in Barrow. Best of luck to both of you!!
Fort Defiance? Chinle? Flag? I grew up in Gallup, famed in song and story. I can relate to the moves otherwise. I’m still trying to get the hell out of Texas.
Wow … Fort Defiance, Chinle, Flagg? I grew up in Gallup. Trying to get the hell out of Texas for someplace further west myself. Good luck with your continued journeys. And Moni, too.
I’ve eaten reasonably authentic American Indian as well as Mexican food in the Southwest; not sure that something like blubber up there in Alaska would appeal to me!
Reblogged this on meatdoesntgrowinmygarden and commented:
Somehow I can relate
Thanks for a great post. My life is a reverse of what you have written because for the past two decades a cabin in the wilderness of Northern Alaska was my home and now I am living is a small town in Texas. Though I am trying to adapt to the heat and crowded life here like yourself in my heart my home will always be Alaska.
“It’s where my moral compass points whenever I am somewhere else.”
I’ve lived in Oregon longer than Alaska. Alaska is my home. The Kenai. I was married in Or and used that scripture in Ruth during my wedding to remind me Oregon was now where I belonged. At first were were in Eo, and then for 17 years we were on the coast, which was rather wonderful (I asked my youngest one day if he ever resented us not taking him to places like Disneyland and he replied, ‘mom we LIVED in a vacation!’). We’ve resided now for several years in EO again, it is where my spouse grew up and I absolutely HATE it. I honestly cannot stand that place. My soul aches for mountains and water and home…I cry for a long time on the plane when I leave Alaska, coming back, when we are about 20 min outside of landing in ANC , I start to grin. Not smile, grin. My heart cheers and I can’t wait to be on home soil. I don’t mean to make this sound like Moni won’t adjust. I hope she will and your love will be stronger than the pull for somewhere else. Bless you in your walk. No matter where it is.
PS-I am going to use the quote above in one of my blogs. I’ll link you.
Norbert Haupt said:
What a great, inspiring post. It told me I should do one for myself, just like it! It showed us who you are. It told us where you are. Geez, while you’re in LA, if you ever come south to the San Diego area, you need to let me know, because lunch or beer, or both, is on me!
have moved from my home in Boulder Co to the Hills of West Virginia twice…. My husband and I could not make up our mind if Co was home or WV in responce to your post, yea but it will take time to make any new place home but if and when you do it is with you forever!
Wow! That was a terrific post! I hope that Barrow works out well for Moni and that you guys have years … nay, DECADES … of happiness and joy. Peace and hugs, my friend!
A wonderful listing of the places of your life! And the emotions that went with it. Enjoyed reading it.
Where are you going, where have you been? I’ve never read your blog before, but I enjoyed this post, and it has made me reflect on where I have lived, and where I am from. Thanks for the follow! 🙂
Just wandered in here and I love your voice. I suddenly am pulling for you and Moni!❤️
Melissa Crandall said:
Hold hands and take each step together.
I understand what you mean about “home” and where you grew up. I was born and raised in upstate New York (above Albany). I’ve lived several different places in NY, as well as in PA, WA, and OR. I’ve been to nearly all 50 states. There aren’t many places that feel like HOME, but I’ve experienced that unique sensation three times – in Scotland (my first and only visit there), in Maine (when I returned to the site of grandparents’ camp after 32 years away), and this year in Montana (my first visit).
Loneliness will come, and is to be expected. So’s fear. So’s doubt. Ride those ponies. They’ll carry you forward to other things.
Best of luck on this adventure.
Goodness gracious! I lived in the same house in the same small town of eastern NC my entire life until I left for college. I met my husband at college and he also lived in the same place his entire life. I admire people who can start over in different places. I enjoyed this piece. I hope your girlfriend will be happy In your home.
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I didn’t know you lived in Flagstaff for awhile! I’ve been here since 1982!!! I fall in love more and more with this city each year! It’s definitely home! I spent a few years working on the reservation too, not a fun commute at all. But it did take me into a totally new culture and experience! Canyon de Chey being a huge highlight!
It’s great you’re so sensitive to what Moni is giving up.. but she is gaining a grand adventure with you! Looking forward to hearing how the transition goes.
DanWallDammit, thanks for introducing yourself to me. Your website is attractive, and your blogs are varied, interesting, and engaging. I shall return … as it sounds like you shall return to the Southwest. How did you get to my fledgling website for There Is Hope? Warm regards to Monica. Wishing you good health and safety, my friend! Herb
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