The day might have been cold, or maybe an unseasonably warm day greeted the young woman, already a mother of one, about to become a single mother of two. I suppose someone out there remembers what the day was like, but not me. I hadn't shown up yet.
On that day almost five decades ago, my mother arrived at the hospital to give birth to the child she knew she would not raise as her own, the decision to allow strangers take her place already made. I wonder if my step-sister came with her, or if my father was there, or if he even knew I was on my way. I think about these things sometimes.
I've never lived in Ogden, Utah, though I've visited several times. Many, on both sides of my adopting parent's families have lived here. It's a railroad town; it's a tough town, a town whose reputation is many times undeserved.
But, it's also a beautiful town, with historic streets, and mountains that rival--and in my opinion, surpass--the majestic splendor of those found in both Utah and Salt Lake counties. Ogden's peaks are second to none in the state.
Today I began working in Ogden for the first time in my life. I hope to take a lot of pictures and let the city become a part of me. It's where I was born and I feel like I'm coming home.