A return to roots

The day after Boxing Day, our family made a little pilgrimage to the farm house where my husband grew up. It was a lovely winter afternoon, but the clouds on the horizon hid the mountains that edge the landscape. No sign of Chief Mountain in Montana, or the other Rocky Mountains that my husband woke up to every day of his childhood. But beauty isn't dependent upon mountains, as you can see.

The farm hasn't changed a lot...

The quonset and cattle shed are still there, seen on either side of Dad and his tractor. The house itself is as solid as ever.

It was built in 1918 from the leftover white granite blocks that formed Cardston's Mormon Temple. It looks pretty small from the outside, but looks can be deceiving. I was amazed at how spacious it was once we went inside.

It was a trip down memory lane for my husband as we walked through the rooms. He showed the girls the "dungeon" bedroom he shared with his brother,

remembered various things that happened in different places, and pointed out storage spaces we would have missed altogether, not having been there before. I loved the light in the old house.

The pilgrimage was a good thing to do in more ways than one. Our girls got a sense of their dad's childhood (and an appreciation for not having to share a small basement bedroom). We all enjoyed the peace and quiet of the place, where, when a vehicle drives by, it makes an unearthly roar. We also found Jesus in the basement -- or rather, a white plaster statue of him. No one really knows where he came from, but we brought him home to Mom so he can have a place of honour instead of sitting in a dark laundry room.

Our trip to the farm made me think of that line by Jonas Salk: "Good parents give their children roots and wings. Roots to know where home is; wings to fly away and exercise what's been taught them." My husband's roots and wings have made him into a very good man, one who really values his relationship with his parents. While our girls are slowly discovering where their wings will take them, our annual Christmas pilgrimage to be with their grandparents gives them a good idea of their roots. All is as it should be.