A whiff of pizza topped with garlic, cheese, dried tomatoes and pesto moved through the air. My grandson introduced me to a new restaurant years before. Now I enjoyed this favorite place again with him.
This time, haunting nostalgic memories dropped flat around my heart as he expressed his dreams, which didn’t include Pagosa Springs. It hurt to hear him say he was moving on. His dreams would take him to a new job, another state and new friends. I couldn’t be happier for him. His dreams included his folks following him once he was established.
I sighed. I pondered. I remembered. Why was I in a meltdown? This was good news for him and his wife. My children have always come and gone. Maybe I realized that my dreams had been lived and their dreams have just begun and don’t include Pagosa.
Al and I dreamed of a place in the mountains, far from the city, a remote place where we would raise good strong children and enjoy the lifestyle of country living. We had no idea where this desire would take us or how long we would be here. It’s been 50 years. And dreams, I found out, require hard work, but, when lived, are most satisfying.
We came to the Rocky Mountains, settled 12 miles from our little town; Al hunted and fished, and I painted to my heart’s content. We imagined four seasons, with a pot of beans or soup cooking on the stove, the smell of mesquite burning in our potbelly stove, and our family gathering around, laughing and telling stories on each other. What a dream. Yes, that was our dream.
No one told us we’d need a four-wheel drive to leave our property, or wait for months for an electrical pole, or a two-year wait for a four-party-telephone line. We found out very quickly we needed snow boots, heavy winter coats and a strong fortitude for living on untamed land.
The heat of Arizona didn’t prepare us for the cold of Colorado. Our rocky dirt roads didn’t resemble paved streets. The school bus stopped 2 miles away on U.S. 84 for our children. They can boast today they walked 2 miles in the snow to attend school. Both ways.
But it was our dream, and Al and I never quit working. Each morning, we had a new spring in our step as we faced the trouble of the day. Frozen pipes, a tree falling on our car during the night, and a bear in our garbage pit were all part of rustic living. More responsibilities were placed on our son. Hauling wood, keeping the house warm with a constant burning fire in the stove. Work never stopped.
We visited our Albuquerque family with the smell of smoke in our clothes from our wood-burning stove. Our teenage girls in snow boots, thermal underwear, plaid shirts and duck down jackets didn’t quite fit in. No designer jeans, no fancy dresses, and the girls dressed like lumber jacks ready to cut down a tree.
Our city family shook their heads with a question of, “Why would you live this way?” In later years, they confessed they didn’t have the courage to follow their dreams.
Oh, but our dream produced strong, independent children, a family unit with deep convictions of faith and work. They didn’t expect a free lunch. They looked out for the neighbors. What they had, they shared. Today they still live by those standards.
Over the years, three of our four children have moved back home to build and work their property. We still stand on the stairs and all squeeze in for a family picture. We go together for outings and picnics at Echo Lake and fish. We take weekend trips for football and hockey games, and enjoy a big family meal with all of our traditional dishes.
This was the nostalgia I felt while eating my favorite pizza and listened to my grandson’s dreams. Our grandchildren are moving on. No enchantment in the years spent in Pagosa Springs school system or on the football field. It was their bringing up, but not what they yearned for.
After the visit with my grandson, a moment of sadness hit me. I placed a call to one of my daughters. “I need to understand what I’m going through. This is not me. I don’t get sad. I’ve still got projects to do. I’m a happy person. Why has this hit me like a ton of bricks?”
“Well, Mother, let’s talk about it.”
Final brushstroke: There is no place on earth I would rather be. My dreams are small today. I am satisfied when one of my children comes for a visit and wants to be with my Sweet Al and me. I love it when my children walk in the door unannounced and say, “Grandma, I’m putting on a pot of coffee for you and me.” Family will always be family. They don’t have to knock. The door is always open for them.
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