Roots and Discovery

Grandpa Hall used his timeshare powers to host a Hall Family Reunion in St. George for New Years. Each of the seven children and their families had their own "condo" with ample space. The children played day and night with long lost Hall cousins, the adults sang and played games, managed determined swimmers (despite the frost on the grass) and visited. Maxler wasn't as pleased as his siblings about such an adventure, and on our 2nd very long night together, he and I packed up in a hurry and headed down the mountain in search of some ibuprofen and decongestant. I drove down Bluff, past familiar and tall unfamiliar buildings. I passed "Wells Court" where Uncle Scott used to tend to his animals for so many years, and I started to tear up. I pulled into Smiths. The baby and I spent a long time there. And even though I have shopped at Smiths all over the state, this one is Grandma's, with Ross Hurst's just next door.

I haven't been down to Dixie since Grandma died. Part of me was wanting to close that chapter --so much had changed about the city with it's expansion. Part of me didn't want to go back and remember. But part of me is Dixie bred. I know the landmarks. I love the red rock. My feet recall that prickly stiff grass, the sands of Snow Canyon, and the lava rock by the "Secret Pools of Living Youth." I am 34 years old. When we climbed to those pools long ago, surrounded by Wells cousins, and young uncles --I wasn't developmentally capable of realizing the magic of such a secret. The pools, the people, the journey -- the secret lay in the living -- in the being together -- and now in the memories of it all.

I left the store and drove up past Hurst's --"Rah, Rah, Ross, Ross, Ross" my mind rehearsed. I came around the back and through Smith's parking lot again. I went straight. There was Mary Ellen's, there was Schuyler and Afton's --and there was the driveway we always parked our variety of station wagons, late at night....Grandma's. It seemed little. The whole house seemed little. It has always been, of course. The blue looked a bit faded. I drove past it, looking back. I turned left, past Scott and Jillyn's old place. Down by the tabernacle, right past old houses and newer condos --straight at the light, past the movie theater where we'd seen Back to The Future when it first came out. Next through the busy intersection and after a stretch of development that is less familiar, I spot the small white out buildings that were once part of the Wells Dairy Farm.

Later that day, after we'd said good-bye to all the Hall travelers, Star drove us out to Santa Clara -- what a change on that road from the days we frequented Gary and Marsha's place. Our destination was the home of Jacob Hamblin -- one of Star's ancestors. It was a peaceful spot. The children were intrigued by the cotton growing right outside the door. Star felt connected and proud of his heritage. Elder Hill promised that a trip to the St. George temple visitor's center for the viewing of a new film would prove valuable to our family. We felt compelled to comply. We entered the center and were warmly greeted. "Is this all one family, Mom?" an Elder and his wife asked me. "Yes, and it feels like a lot of people on Sunday mornings," I smiled. We had the theatre to ourselves. Only a Stone Cutter began. It tells the story of a man who was called to work on the Salt Lake temple. He lived in Alpine, and would begin his walk to the temple on Monday mornings at 2am in order to arrive with the other workers at 8am. He stayed with his son each week until Friday, when he would walk back to Alpine and reach home around midnight. He did this for many years despite amazing challenges. The image of his walking and limping up the hill back lit by dawn's pink hues will remain with me. He was only ....a stone cutter, ...a father, ...a servant of the Lord.

It was hard to persuade the children to leave. The spirit there could not be denied. I could feel it. My children could feel it. We walked out a different way than we had come, past the large Christus statue with his outstretched and marked hands. Star took the baby and started the loading process. Dusk was settling in, and with it came the Christmas lights and the music from the Nativity still on display. Millie was captivated. Pres. Hinckley's voice came over the speakers. She looked up at me with happy recognition and ran to hug me. I picked her up and held her close. And my mind cast back to a specific memory from a January 15 years ago:
Star and I had traveled to AZ to meet his family. On the way back I wanted him to see St. George --after all, that was part of my roots. Grandma had been gracious and we had left her to visit the temple. It was the temple where my Wells cousins had married, and where my siblings had photos in sun suits and straggly hair. We stood there, somewhat giddy in our excitement, dreaming up a "happily ever after" sort of ending to our college romance.
And now -- with a Suburban full of children, snacks, bedding and books, I was overcome with the realization that in many ways my story resembled the old stone cutter Moyle; It included an uphill, determined trudging that may not end for years, but I do not want to be released from this calling of motherhood. And besides, imagine how many lovely sunrises and sunsets he must have witnessed.

I kissed little Millie's cheek. When we climbed in the car Star said, "We're just going to drive by the cemetery and let Mom get out for a few minutes. Would you like that, Mom?" I nodded, tears pooling again. I had not ever been to the St. George cemetery without my parents showing me where all the Wellses were. It took me a few minutes to locate them. I saw Annie's stone, and then up a row were Hannah and George. The fonts were identical, as though there had not been almost 40 years of separation. They said simply: Mother and Father. On the next row was Uncle Scott and their David, Jillyn's name already carved there --waiting. Oh---that upward, long journey for us all --week after week, year after year. But....as I searched for those names in the Dixie grass, I was back lit with one of the most spectacular sunsets I'd ever seen.

God was in his glory. He knows my roots, and He knows what that means to me.