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Florida to Utah to California By Riva Duncan My husband, Matt, and I recently moved. Recently, as in a week ago. We moved from Elk Ridge, UT, to Yreka, CA. Our jobs brought us to California, and we move quite often compared to most people. We work for the US Forest Service, and "they" like their employees to move around. When we moved to Utah from a small, rural town in North Florida, we went from a simple, rectangular, 1100 square foot home to a 3,000 square foot, custom house in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountain with breath-taking views of the valley, Utah Lake, and prominent Mt. Timpanogos. The house was beyond our dreams -- open and airy with a cathedral ceiling in the living room, a wrap-around porch, a hot tub secluded enough that allowed us to soak naked. Utah is home to the Mormon Church, and Mormons have lots of kids, hence the large homes. It's nearly impossible to even buy a small home in Utah. We don't have kids, but we have two dogs and three cats, and we often joked that each animal had it's own room. We knew when we bought the house that it would probably be the largest, coolest house we'd ever own. We told ourselves that up front so we wouldn't be tempted to stay there just for the house if it turned out we weren't happy in Utah. We both know people like that -- miserable in their jobs or communities, but so in love with their houses that they won't move. We didn't want that to become us. Despite the funky alcohol laws, the scarcity of good coffee shops, and the nauseating support of President Bush, we ended up really liking Utah. We made a lot of great friends and took advantage of Utah's amazing natural wonders. We hiked mountains, we mountain-biked, we navigated slot canyons, we skied, we took in concerts and saw "A Praire Home Companion" in Salt Lake City. We found a group of like-minded individuals -- Bush-haters if you will. But work wasn't so hot. Downright miserable for me and unsatisfying for Matt. So, we started looking for jobs on another national forest. One of the nice things about the Forest Service is there's a national forest in nearly every state. And some states have several. The Klamath National Forest in northern California had jobs for both of us. Tired of the growth and traffic in the Salt Lake valley, we looked forward to living in a small town again. In August we came out for a house-hunting trip. Not nearly as many choices in a small town, but we looked at 22 houses in two days. Our major requirement was a private yard. Our hound dog, Fred, is, well, a hound dog. Hounds don't bark they bay. Loudly. He gets on our nerves and we love him. We wanted to spare any neighbors, and we wanted to spare ourselves from conflicts with said neighbors. We soon even had our realtor considering the "Fred Factor" when looking at homes. Finally, we narrowed our choices down to three or five, with our first choice being a year-old house on 40 acres. Forty acres, wow! This would definitely meet the Fred Factor. We'd never dreamed we'd be able to afford land, but the market was a bit depressed in the area and the timing was right. The house was much smaller than our big Mormon house, less than half the size at 1480 square feet. But 40 acres! Plus, we didn't fill up our big Mormon house with stuff because we knew the next house we'd own would likely be smaller. We made the move and arrived on a Friday. Our furniture wasn't scheduled to arrive until the following Tuesday so we slept on one of those inflatable air beds and sat in lawn chairs. The dogs seemed to adjust well and soon established the house and yard as their territory. The cats found closets in which to hide and window sills on which to sit. On Tuesday we awoke, eager to receive our stuff. The movers filled up the house and garage with box after box. How did we have so much...stuff? It's just the boxes, we told ourselves and each other. Once we get unpacked, it will be better, not so cramped. I had the kitchen things upacked that evening. Matt started on the master bedroom. With one less bedroom than our big Mormon house, the extra things were put into the garage until we could figure out where to put everything. I didn't say it aloud, but I missed my big Mormon house. A lot. I missed the pull-out shelves for the pots and pans. The skinny cupboard just for cookie sheets and pizza pans. The double sink in the master bathroom. Space. The next day, I voiced my longing for our old house. Matt said he missed it, too. "But, it's bigger than our Florida house," he said. "And we didn't even have a garage there." "Yeah, and no neighbors to get pissed about Fred's barking," I said. We were trying to reassure ourselves and each other. Years ago when Matt and I were first dating, we made a cross-country trip together from Oregon to Southern California and then all the way acrossed the US to Massachusettes. As I was taking a turn driving and Matt was asleep next to me in the truck, a song from Billy Joel came on. "You're My Home." Billy is singing about how as long as the person he loves is by his side, she is his home. No matter where they live or in what they live, it doesn't really matter as long as they're together. As I'm driving through southern California with this song playing, I realize that I am in love with Matt. This was the person who would, no matter what and no matter where, mean Home for me. With tears streaming down my face I looked over at him and felt an immense sense of relief that I finally found the right guy. Two years later, our friend, Mike, sang that song at our wedding. So, yes, I miss my big Mormon house. I feel cramped and sometimes claustrophobic in the new house. I still haven't figured out where everything is going to go. But it's just a house. It's really just stuff. Once we get the stereo and CDs unpacked, I think I'll put on that Billy Joel song and dance with my husband amid the boxes. About the author: I am 42 years old, Southerner by birth, but a Midwesterner by up-bringing, so I'll talk to anyone. I like to run, hike, travel, watch movies, and I'm a voracious reader. I like anything by Johnny Cash, U2, and Lucinda Williams. I like dirty jokes, I love to cook, and I love to eat. My pets are my family. I am the Deputy Forest Fire Management Office for the Klamath National Forest, so, yes, I'm a firefighter. | | | |
First Person Archive Most recent: 2008 November October September August July June May April March February January 2007 December November October September August July June May April March February January 2006 December September Submit Your First Person Story A while back, we invited listeners to send us a short story or a poem about their homes for a feature called "Stories from Home." We're resurrecting this feature, but we're calling it "First Person" a place for you to give us your stories, poems, or short fiction. | |
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