Tribute to the Bluff #3: Deep Roots

Dawn signals the arrival of each day's sun approaching just behind the mountain range. I have a clear view from the bluff. Like clockwork the sky lights up in an array of blue and orange colors. The sign of a new day. I've seen many days come and go.  

I've lived here a long time. Don't know how old I am. My roots are deep here.  They keep me stable and secure, especially when the brisk wind blows along the bluff. Or the thunder storms rattle my limbs.

I've seen the changes here on the bluff. From an untouched vast land to an occupied residence. Two - Dad & Mom- who then become a family of four with Son and Daughter.

Dad works hard on the land.  While others sleep, he walks the pasture in his black irrigation boots and a shovel in hand; moving water to quench the ground's thirst. He is up with the moon many times throughout the night. His toiling is the result of green pasture for his livestock. Irrigating season is long, and Idaho is dry. He is up early in the winter season too; supplementing the pasture grass with bails of hay.  He beckons his sleepy herd with a familiar sound, "Sa-boss! Sa-boss!" Steers and heifers form a single file line down the cow path they've created over the years. Their breath visible by the cold morning air. They recognize his voice and know his call. I saw the hours he spent pounding steel posts into the ground and building barbwire fencing around the property. I saw the piles of wood being chopped, hauled, and stacked to keep his family warm during cold nights.  I saw ditches shoveled and burned to help water flow. It was his to care for.

Mom spent much time working the land too. Hours in the garden, preparing the land to produce a harvest of corn, radishes, peas, carrots, and beans. She put her two children to work, picking raspberries. I watched as she planted trees and bushes around their home, weeding flower beds, arranging rocks and stepping stones, and staging antique artifacts around the front of the house. She too wasn't afraid of hard work, working along side her husband; willing to put in the hard work it takes to make a life for yourself and your family. 

(Mom giving Son & Daughter a horseback ride. Evidence of the old oak tree behind.)

Son and Daughter were active, riding their motorcycles up and down the long driveway, trying to go as fast as they could; hitting the breaks before running into the barbwire fence at the end of the lane. During the summer months, it was their 4-H cows they walked down the lane, training them for upcoming local fairs. 

Daughter used the pasture as her driver's training.  She had the choice of two small Datsun cars (one yellow, the other blue).  The pasture became her range to practice turns, shifting, and parking. 

The land invited its dwellers to explore, to try new things and master skills, experience the pride of hard work, learn the lessons of responsibility, find boredom can be turned into creative imaginations. I watched as the family enjoyed special traditions - the excitement of corralling the horses early Easter morning and hauling them to the sunrise service on horseback. 

The land aided in producing roots for this family. A safe nurturing place to dwell, to be themselves, and grow up developing deep roots to the bluff, which gave them stability and strength to carry on.

While I saw the joys of living on the bluff, I also saw sorrow. Son's heart break when he learned that his dearest companion and friend, Sonny, a beautiful sorrel horse, had to be put down due to a leg injury. A very difficult decision for a young man to make. He raised and trained Sonny as a young colt. He loved him.

Daughter too felt the pains of grief. I can remember the night, seeing her standing on the edge of the bluff overlooking Linder Road. She experienced death for the first time as she looked down to see her horse, Bunny, lying in the middle of the road surrounded by people, lights, and police cars. Bunny had been hit by a car - sadly, two lives lost. Bunny was pregnant.  The next day Mom told Daughter not to go outside because Bunny was still there.  Daughter could not resist and snuck out to say good-bye to Bunny one last time.  She slowly crept around the side of the bluff so her mom couldn't see her through the kitchen window.  As she peeked around the corner, there her precious friend lay lifeless.  The little girl cried tears of great loss, nothing she ever experienced before, feelings of sadness, anger, and confusion all wrapped up together. There the Daughter laid with her body resting against the side of the bluff, curled up with her knees to her chest, weeping out loud for things to be different. 

As the dawn signals the sunrise, dusk cues the sunset and invites life to rest and work to end.  Each day's events and activities form whom we become. The storm winds come, but our roots bury deep into the soil of the land where we dwell, keeping us strong and steady. Son and Daughter have since grown and left the bluff.  Dad and Mom sold the piece of property they worked and toiled for 36 years. 

The land was just as much home for this family as the house built on it. 

Today my view is obstructed from the visual alarm of each morning's sunrise, but I still have first class seating when twilight begins and the sun says good-bye for another day. I can recall many evenings of Dad, Mom, Son, and Daughter enjoying the same show I still enjoy today. They grabbed a popsicle from the garage freezer and stretched out on their freshly mowed grass to pause and take in the amazing sunset display. 

No matter what happened on the bluff that day, the evidence in the sky of a good, loving Creator always held true, making the bluff a sacred place where roots grow deep.

-The Oak Tree

Tribute to the Bluff 2 - Strangers To Family

If you read my last post, this is the second of this month's Tribute to the Bluff.  The piece of property my parents bought as a young couple, seeking to start their life together and raise a family on.  I'm taking a break from my present fast-paced living to pause and relish the small moments in my past; honoring the simple deposits into my childhood for which I'm truly grateful for.  

The only thing left standing on the Enzminger Ponderosa is one large oak tree.  When I was young, I didn't recognize this tree all that much.  It was surrounded by scrubs and other trees and a little red house sat in front of it, that of a elderly couple named Jim and Margaret Peterson. 

(Margaret and Jim Peterson with our dog Tara)

They owned the twelve acre bluff, which was a small portion of the 400 acre homestead owned by Margaret's father.  

In 1969, my young parents knocked on Peterson's door with a bold request - to ask Jim & Margaret if they could buy one acre of their property from them.  They said no, but then added, "You can buy 11.5 acres from us though." Shocked by their response, knowing they could not afford to buy almost the entire piece of property, Jim and Margaret Peterson gave my parents a deal they could not refuse. A most generous gift. The transaction was made, and these strangers became neighbors.  And the old oak tree watched as this young couple began working the land and raising my brother and me in their double wide mobile home on the northeast corner of the property; making it their home.

 (Me in front of the double-wide)

My brother Adam and I would ride our bikes (or motorcycles) down the lane to Jim and Margaret's little red house. They didn't have any children of their own so we gladly took the liberty of being spoiled by them.  Our neighbors became our friends. 

Margaret had a doll I gravitated to every time I stepped foot into their house.  I would rummage through the toy box just to hold the doll while I was there.  Her body was odd shaped, made of a gray cloth and red polka-dotted plastic material. Her plastic face had a cracked chin held together by a small bandaid. She wasn't a pretty doll, but I loved her still.  It was her big blue painted eyes that stole my heart. Before leaving their house, I'd always ask if I could take her home with me...

Margaret would kindly remind me that this was her home, but I could visit any time. After the Petersons moved off the bluff many years later, Margaret finally granted me permission to take her home with me. 

Our favorite time at Jim and Margaret's was pulling up to Jim's bar in his pool room.  I'm speaking billiards here.  I would place my order for a 7UP and Adam always had a Pepsi on the rocks.  Jim would place our full classes on a battery powered contraption (I don't have a better word for it) that would motor our drinks to our side of the bar.  Even though Jim would do this routine every time, Adam and I would anxiously watch as the full glasses approached the edge of the bar at full speed.  And just in the nick of time, it would stop.  Laughter always ensued, and Jim's shoulders would shake up and down as he laughed, tears welling up in his eyes.  It never failed...laughter brought on Jim's tears and caused him to pull out his cloth handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his eyes.  Jim was the first one who taught me that tears can be happy.  That tears can also be an expression of joy and happiness. 

Selfishly, Adam and I went over to Jim and Margaret's because we knew they had toys, soda, and unusual contraptions, but we also knew our time together brought them joy. We began calling Jim and Margaret our godparents.

Jim died before I was married, but I was blessed to have Margaret, represented as one of my grandmothers at my wedding. When I look at that old oak tree still standing, I don't think about things.  I think about people and how they made me feel.  I'm not writing about all the homework I had to do, all the responsibilities required of me growing up, the school projects or deadlines...when time passes we remember the people and the memories we shared with them. 

I wish life could be lived in hindsight all the time.  I think there would be less regrets that way.  My last moments with Margaret was sitting by her bedside, not knowing if she could hear my last words to her.  She couldn't respond back.  Through heartfelt tears and great sadness, I expressed my love to her the best way I knew how as a 26 year old. Praying she could somehow know how much she meant to me. 

That oak tree saw strangers become neighbors. And neighbors become friends.  Friends earn the title of "godparents" and then become forever family.

Don't take for granted the people around you. Those neighbors living right beside you could be a hidden treasure for you and your children - new members of your family!

(They loved us as their own.  Here Adam and I are with Jim & Margaret 

and their niece and nephew)

Tribute To The Bluff

Two weeks ago, I went back to the bluff. 

The bluff that taught me about livin’ and what growing up looks and feels like. 

It will probably be the last time to walk its premises and take in the View from the Bluff. Sadly, it’s no longer mine to enjoy. Life changes and some changes are easier than others.

I spent much of my time looking at the outskirts of the newly developed property - the parts untouched by progression.  The edges that seem to still hold my life story. Like the plum trees still near the base of the bluff along the canal or the physical features of the side of the bluff that brings back memories of digging, traveling, and exploring the bluff’s terrain. I didn’t know dirt and the ground could mean so much to me. 

My dad’s old fence line still stands on the back of the property behind a now beautiful and expensive rod iron fence. Dad’s barbwire fence is one you’d see in an old Western movie...picturesque.  As my parents and I take inventory of what is left, my dad proudly makes known, “I put that old railroad tie into the ground.” Still holding the fence securely in place. I’m sure flashbacks of the hours and hours he poured into this land ran through his mind. 

Part of the ravine where my brother and I spent hours riding our motorcycles up and down brought about the sweet memories of spending time with my brother and how I wanted to ride a motorcycle just like my big brother did.

The bluff supports a new foundation now. There is not much of the land that isn’t developed, paved, or landscaped. It’s purpose has changed. The only thing that remains on the original 12 acre homestead is the old oak tree that stood next to our neighbor's house, which sat right in the middle of our property.  

It still stands, but no longer is able to see the sunrise coming up from the northeast mountain range.  A new structure blocks its view, but the aged tree can still enjoy the pleasure of the beautiful Idaho sunsets in the west.  Those were my favorite!

This tree watched our neighbors, Jim & Margaret Peterson, build a little red house next to it.  Then in 1969, a young couple bought 11.5 acres from Jim and Margaret’s 12 acre property and raised their two kids and various livestock on the bluff for 36 years.  I’m always mesmerized by large elderly trees; wondering what they could tell us from their point of view.

It’s November…a season of gratitude easily overlooked as the festivities and flurry of Christmas expands into Thanksgiving’s territory.  But this year for the month of November, I would like to pause and find gratitude in the stories that have made me who I am today by making a Tribute to the Bluff.  I want to share with you what this wise old tree saw over a short course of 36 years and has survived to tell even with all the recent changes. Life lessons that live on inside of me, yet easily forgotten in the much faster-paced and complicated lifestyle of adulthood.  

There are treasures in our past we often forget when we are so focused on our futures. 
I pray my words this month will honor the days gone by and bring about a new found joy and gratitude in unwrapping the ordinary moments and reveal the extraordinary value in our stories.

Join me this month as I share my stories, my past, my old homestead as a

Tribute To The Bluff!