Drawn to Home

We drove the 11 hours from Portland OR to Alta WY over the course of two days. A stop outside of Boise facilitated a late departure on Friday night. Despite an early departure on Saturday morning, we arrived 45 minutes late to the camp in Victor ID where we dropped off our 3rd for a week of work and play. We'll miss him because he is the most social of our 5 children.

Over the course of the drive I felt a longing and a pull away from Oregon, which has never felt like home, towards the memories and deep connection I feel with Idaho and Utah. Memories sporadically filled my mind, prompting dormant feelings associated with my upbringing. An upbringing I relished despite the difficulties and pain. They were fond memories because they were no longer associated with pain. Pain that shaped me. The outcome is the man I claim to be.

We drove to the Pratt Cemetery in Alta WY where we wandered amongst the headstones, most bearing names I recognized. Dad's headstone was new. I hadn't seen it before. I doubt he would approve of the large size and gaudy nature of it having been buried just underneath it in a pine box he built himself. His wife Lida chose it. It's her style.

Before we unloaded our luggage at Aunt Janise's house we hugged and visited and I felt like I was home although I had only visited this place maybe 20 times and hadn't been back in 20 years. My children wandered joyfully around the farm feeling liberated, not just from the car, but from the stifling nature of our home in Oregon, where the deep feelings of wholesomeness and family connection are things of the past.

A true home is where family is. Where we create indelible memories. Where we rise and fall with the good and bad. Where we create those deepest of all connections. Where peace and love and completeness fill our souls with the unmistakable knowledge that we are real.