Give Thanks...To Know Them Before They're Gone

 We never truly know another person--I wonder many times if we truly know ourselves. The best we can do is judge each other based on a few factors, the things they do (infinitely more important than the things they say...), an perhaps the biggest factor, how they make you feel.

Today, we lost one of the good ones.

And it stinks.

We moved from our previous neighborhood almost three years ago. In a way, it's been a lifetime, but in other ways, it's like we moved last year. Time if funny that way. Having lived on the same street for five decades, you get to know the area, the homes, the yards, the streets, and especially the people. I can't tell you definitively when his family moved in, but they were a staple, part of the community like a strong tree standing proud against a brilliant blue sky. 

Over the years, the family moved into a larger home just up the street. I still remember while out on a walk seeing his car motor up the hill, always giving each other a wave, but what I remember most were the conversations we had, especially around Thanksgiving.

Why Thanksgiving?

Because that's when Kent's spirit truly shined. 

Kent would stand up in church and announce that if anyone needed a place to go for Thanksgiving dinner, hit him up. If I'm remembering correctly, he would prepare a huge meal to be served on Friday. Even though it's been years since we were there at Thanksgiving, I don't see why he would stop his gracious tradition. I distinctly remember talking to him about it. Food's expensive--even more so now. He said in his humble way that he did it because he didn't want anyone missing out on a good meal, plus, I know he loved doing it. Perhaps no one got more out of his selfless act than he did.

I don't know the details of what happened, and in a way, they're not important. I don't need to know them to know what really matters...that a family man has passed on, a man whose example touched my life and the lives of so many people. I'm grateful to have known him, grateful to call him friend. Though the tree is gone, it's shadow will never fade. God's speed, Kent.

I Can Deny It No More...Our "Little" Town Is No Longer Little

"I noticed when I came home that traffic was building up through town. There must be an accident on the interstate."

These were the words my wife told my daughter as we snarfed down our dinner. We had planned on leaving early for tonight's rehearsal.

Turns out we needed to leave a lot earlier.

Except for three years, I've lived all my fifty-three and a half years in Utah. I think the population of the planet, when I was born, was about half of what it is today. And I know the population of our state has more than quadrupled in that time. When my parents bought a beautiful plot of land on a mountain back in the late 1960s, our little town was just that...little. I think there were only a few thousand people who called Farmington home.

Funny thing--if you provide food, water, jobs to people, they end up marrying and producing kids, which, in turn, produce kids of their own. And those kids want to live where they grew up, many of them anyway. I know our town has been growing. Fields where we once wandered and played as kids are long gone, replaced by homes, schools, stores, and movie theaters Most of the time the growth hasn't affected us too much. I no longer commute and we don't travel very much as a general rule.

So, when times comes to hit the road during rush hour or if there's an accident on the main roads, I keep thinking to myself, "Where did all these people come from?" The truth is, Most have been here a long time and more are joining them every day.

We made to to our destination only a few minutes late, which, considering the circumstances, was amazing. And next time, as I'm sitting in my home, away from busy roads, I need to think--there's more people out there than I realize. Once I hit the road, I end up joining them. I wonder if anyone else asks themselves where I came from?

The New House On The Hill...

We're getting new neighbors. Just down the hill a home rises from a field previously used as the neighborhood sledding run.

We'll need to find a new place to sled.

That's the thing with change. Sometimes you've got to make adjustments.

This is one house. To the north a subdivision is going in that will increase our community by several dozen homes. And when I say "subdivision," that's exactly what the development did to our community--divided us. Some fought the plan with signs and petitions and impassioned pleas on social media. Others, though they may have not wanted the development to go in, felt private property should be just that--something the owner of the property can do with what they want, within the bounds of the law and community standards, of course.

Our family moved into our little town back in the late 1960s. Except for a few years here and there, I call Farmington my home since that time. Our town is the kind of place where many have family members living here since its founding. It's a place people like and their children like to live.

That's what happened to me.

It's funny how many of us don't want to make adjustments to change once we're all settled. Because there was a time when no home existed, not on the hill or on the flat land. People came, people adapted. The community grew. I found it sad that so many people wanted to deny others the opportunity to enjoy the same things that they enjoy--to stop others from living in a place they love to call home. Would I rather the mountain stay the way it is and not get torn up? Probably, but what if someone looked at our lot fourteen years ago and said, "I think there's too many homes on the hill--even one more is too many," or if, when my parents bought an orchard of fruit trees in 1969, people protested the sale of that land?

I know my life and the lives of my children would have changed forever. So, we're getting new neighbors. The home will most likely be finished by the end of the year at the pace they're going. As I took pictures of the house under construction and imagined what the house would look like, I thought that I could be upset because more people means more traffic and the need for our kids to find a new sledding hill. Or, I could be excited that another family will move in and their lives will be forever changed because they bought the property, built a house, and turned it into a home.

A Sign Of The Times...

Continuing on my "sign" theme, this came to my attention earlier this week. As I drove to work a few days ago I noticed a small change. I almost missed it, but I knew something was different.

The speed limits in the downtown section of our little hamlet have changed.

We can now travel 5 m.p.h. faster than we used to.

For years I got used to driving at a slower speed. I tried making sure my car didn't go too fast--I tried being courteous. After all, I don't want to get a ticket, and, the absolute last thing I want to have happen, I don't want to hit someone because I was going too fast.

I have friends who live on these streets. Sure, they have literal front-row seats to the annual Farmington Festival Days parade, but other than that, I do not envy their situation. I've driven to my friend's home during various parts of the day. There are times when you cannot get out of the driveway--there are just too many cars. And, heaven help you if there's an accident on the interstate and people drive through towns to get home. Then it's a nightmare.

I understand why these things change. If you took an informal poll of those who travel these roads (and if they knew they wouldn't get in trouble for telling the truth...), most would admit to driving above the posted speed limit. It was 35 m.p.h. before and now it's 40 m.p.h. On other streets, it was 30 m.p.h. and now it's 35 m.p.h. I probably drove almost 35 on the 30 and  40 on the 35 many times on these roads. What worries me is, because the speed limits are higher, people will be driving five to ten m.p.h. over the posted limit. 

I wonder if anyone who voted to make these changes actually lives on the streets that are effected. Or do they just want to drive faster on these roads so they can get home sooner.

That's an interesting question.

So, now we'll all go faster and get to where we're going seconds ahead of the time we did before. And since we're so obsessed with getting to where we want to go as quick as possible, the new speed limit is truly a sign of the times.

Hiking With A Kid...And A Cat

My youngest and I were outside this afternoon and I spotted a small sign up on the mountain, not high up, but high enough I couldn't tell what the sign said. We decided to take a break and hike up to it to see what it said.

Turns out it had but a single work:

FLAG

Due to some recent construction, the trailhead to Flag Rock has moved. Due to the signs, we all know now where to start.

On our little excursion, we had an additional family member join us--one of our cats. I know many a kid who has hiked the mountain with their trusty dog by their side. In all my years living on the hill, I've never seen a cat join anyone for a hike. My son asked if our cat would follow us when we started up. I told him he probably would because the cat's followed me before.

We've had incredible skies of late so I snapped a few pictures, and if cats could take selfies, he'd probably like how the above picture turned out.

It's not everyday we head up on the hill. I suppose we should go more. And if we do and our cat's on the prowl, there's a good chance we'll once again have another team member join us on our hike.

Tonight's Photohike...

There's a thing called "Photowalks" and many people participate in them. I, however, have not. They look fun, but I don't do a lot of activities like that. We're kind of homebodies, except when I'm doing shows, or at conventions, or with writing groups, or working second jobs.

Tonight we had beautifully clear skies, and by "clear" I don't mean "cloudless." I mean without skies that pollution haze we get occasionally. The rain and wind cleansed everything. We did have big rolling clouds, so clean air, big clouds and a setting sun usually translates to an incredible sunset. I grabbed my camera (both lenses...) and my cellphone and I headed up the hill.

I decided to do a Photohike.

As far as sunsets go, it was so-so. Orwell might say it this way, "All sunsets are beautiful, just some sunsets are more beautiful than others." As I waited for the sunset to develop, I tried getting interesting shots of other things. 

Though hard to see, I did get a picture of a herd of deer I spooked.

I also took pictures of 100 North in Farmington.

As well as 325 East.

And I even got a shot of my shadow on a rock. I really should get up to the mountain more. Of course, it was just a few weeks ago that when I took these pictures had several feet of snow. I don't know if I'll do more Photohikes, or if I'll even to a Photowalk. But, hey--anything's possible.

Faces Of My Youth...

I suppose each town as a building the defines it, that represents more then the collection of homes and business, streets and trails. In our town that building has to be the Rock Church. It's on Main street and has been there for over a century. It's the first church I can recall attending and I'm attending still, forty-five years later.

And found within the building are photos of children, hundreds of children. Their faces, along with their leaders line the upper hallway. There are two sets of pictures, some taken in 1978 and another set taken twenty-five years later. It's the photos taken almost forty years ago that makes me stop and look and remember.

The church building is semi-famous in Mormonism. Back in 1887 the first meeting of its kind took place there, a program for the youth of the church, from twelve-years old and younger. Had I been born a few months later, I would have been included in the picture. Instead, many of my friends's faces are forever preserved and hanging on a wall in an upstairs hallway of a century-old building.

I imagine that to my children the picture might as well be from the 1930s or 1940s. It's black and white and no one dresses like that anymore. But I see my youth--there's no other way for me to see it. I see friends with whom I played, on baseball teams, after school at their homes, in the undeveloped lots in town and on the mountain to the east. We played, we endured school and church together, we grew up in Farmington. 

Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only one who remains. Many have moved from here and are creating traditions with their own families, their own children growing up with their friends, spending times in their friends's homes and playing on baseball and soccer teams with kids that will one day grow up and move away.

Yes, each Sunday I have the chance to see faces of my youth, the ghosts of memories. I wonder how long those pictures will hang in that hall.

Reflections Of The Artist David Merrill...

When you grow up in small(ish) town, you get to know almost everyone and those you don't know, you know that you don't know them. Of course, now, in this world in improved technology and communication, there's people I don't even know in my own neighborhood.

But back then, we knew who lived in the house on the corner, or the widow who lived in the small rock house built by pioneers. And in one rock house, there lived a man who painted. His name was David Merrill.

Not only was he a painter, but he was active in the community. A church and civil leader, he was very well respected. Plus, he was the only one I knew personally who's son won an Academy Award. Come to think of it, he's still the only person I've ever met who's son won an Oscar.

Being an artist, my brother and I went to the art studio built next to his house and passed off our Boy Scout art merit badges. My brother kept up with the art-thing, even getting his degree in it. I dabbled in art, but it was always my brother's thing. I got into writing.

I thought about our past neighbor when I went to my semi-annual dentist's visit last week. Our dentist renovated a nineteenth-century hotel into a beautiful office building and on the walls he has several David Merrill originals. Seeing them brought back memories of me riding my bike my friend Kerry's or Steve's houses. They lived on the same block as the painter and many of the homes look pretty much the same. When I got home I did a google search for "David Merrill Artist." There's quite a few artists out there with that name.

Art captures not only the scene for eternity, but also memories of the artist. We see the world through their eyes and they remind us of what it means to create. It's only my opinion, but I think when we create something, we're as close to becoming deity as possible on this planet. He really was a talented man.

My Day In My Home Town...

I didn't take a lot of pictures today, but the ones I took I like. 

At the end of each day I pick out a picture to use as my "Pic Of The Day." And, as it happens sometimes, there are a couple of pictures vying for the honor.

Tonight as I scrolled through the two dozen or so pictures I took, I picked one then thought about the rest. The pictures tell a story, a story of one day for one person in one town.

When I wrote earlier that I like today's pictures, it isn't necessarily that they're great shots. They're okay--not exceptional as far as quality. However, the people and places in these pictures are. 

We live together, bound by family and culture. We gather and laugh and experience the roller coaster of life together. And so, I give you...

A baby falcon,

A father and his beautiful daughters,

A troubadour,

An interesting building,

A sign,

A main street,

A memory.

My day in my home town.

Glenda Rigby, From Farmington...

*

When you live in the same town you grew up in, something as simple as a glance down a tree-lined street can flood your mind with memories. If I chose to, I could spend endless hours just remembering how things used to be, how things have changed, and how many who made our town what it is, are gone. As an adult with children of my own, life gets busy and even though I drive the same streets I walked on and biked through and skateboarded over decades earlier, I'm not thinking about those days that have passed--I'm thinking about the present and the future.

And then someone dies. It's not always a death that makes me remember my life as a child. Sometimes it's a windstorm that blows over a huge pine tree. Sometimes it's the local fire department running training maneuvers by purposely burning down an old house, a house where people I knew actually lived in and where I used to visit. Sometimes it's seeing deer tracks in newly fallen snow and I remember seeing a doe and her fawn in the back yard as they made their way up the mountain.

§

But not many things can force my mind to recall childhood memories like the passing away of one of the town's favorite citizens. Today we said goodbye to Glenda Rigby. I probably haven't seen her for over twenty years, but when I think of her, I think of when I was a child and she read to us on the steps of the old fire station. Of course, it was not the old fire station at the time. I remember her brother who walked the streets of Farmington and we would say hello to him and he would always wave back. Just thinking of those people makes me remember my best friends who have all moved away and have chosen to raise their families in other communities, allowing their children to experience childhood memories where they live, letting them ride their bikes and skateboards on the uneven sidewalks of their hometowns.

As the years come and go, more and more of those we knew would always "be around" no longer are. It makes me realize that the life I knew is forever disappearing as surely as the trees and the buildings and the people we love. Thank you Glenda for reading to me as a small child, and...for everything else.

* Photo used without permission from: http://www.panoramio.com/photo/77416379

§ Photo used without permission from: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/deseretnews/obituary.aspx?n=glenda-miller-rigby&pid=162459185&fhid=12972#fbLoggedOut