Every year, I seem to go to Idaho with my family to go visit my grandparents and go camping. It is one of my favorite trips. Every since I was little we would go up there. My grandparent’s house is a whole nother story and has character all to itself. It is pinkish red with green trimings and inside brings you back to the 70's. They have a basement that could scare any little kid and spark any teenagers sense of adventure. It had tons of jars of canned foods that looked like eyes and toes and other things that you would see in a crazy scientist lab. It also had tons of olds clothes that used to be my grandmas and some num chucks and a couple of other amazing things until my sister secretly took them away. Their house always seemed to be so different and foreigned to me, but homey.
Grandma would always give us kids a dollar and say, “Here kid, go buy yourself something nice.” At first we took it quite gratefully, but as we got older we felt guilty for taking it as we learned it wouldn't ever buy us anything nice. We sooned realized, though, that the love and price it took to give us those few dollars was priceless. I learned that the people here were carefree and loving and showed their love in various ways.
Another thing I learned was to appreciate life. When we were younger, Landon and I would walk, ride, or run to the nearby park. It was a nice, green, plush little park filled with see saws, huge slides and tons of trees. I would daresay, it was one of my favorite places to be when I was younger. I loved it there. There was also a water fall and huge body of water nearby. I remember one time being with my dad sitting on a ledge looking over the water. He told me of a story of one of his friends who died from getting into the water and falling down the water fall. They found his body a couple days after he died. I remember I was scared to get into the water because of that and quickly got off that ledge. Who knew that such a life sustaining thing as water could be so deadly?
After a couple of days at grandma and grandpa’s house we would take their trailer up into the mountains. Camping and fishing was the second thing we did in Idaho. We would be near the small town of Kilgore. It was hardly inhabited and had quite a character of people. We always passed a farmer with the sign posted, “Only kind of good wolf is a dead wolf”. We would also pass the Kilgore Store where they sold small candies for a penny and the well known monkey bars and honey butter! (I loved honey butter and fry sauce which California doesn’t sell.) We would always camp in the same spot when it was open. There would be a huge field of flowers in front of us and if you looked closer a small stream.
I remember when I was younger that fishing was not fun for me in that stream. I loved the catching of the fish, but when I saw it on the hook I would begin to cry. “Daddy let him go. Let him live! W
ill he be ok?” Hearing the concern in my tone, dad would take the hook out of its mouth and let it back into the water. Sometimes they would swim on their way, but I remember most of all one lazily swimming and then just going along with the current floating on top of the water. It broke my heart. I got better and better at handling the death of the fish. I could gradually watch my dad hit the fishes head on the rock, and then I could tear the worms in half, and then I could watch him clean the fish and show me the heart.
It gradually came as I got older and older. It was like my senses each year were becoming duller and duller and I came to realize I was changing. I wasn't the same little girl. I was used to living in an atmosphere that would change with me and in Idaho it was different. Instead of holding tight onto daddy's shirt, he was holding tight onto me from running off. Instead of singing and running in the meadow of flowers, I was now slowly walking picking a flower here and there. In the unchanging enviroment I realized I was different each time.
That is the thing I realize most whenever I go back. Everything seems the same there. Grandma still has the same magnet on the fridge in the same spot. The bag of books on her floor are still there, but I'm different. Instead of worrying about grandma giving me a kiss, I'm worrying about college and money, but change is good. And every year I seem to learn that again. Change is wonderful.
Grandma would always give us kids a dollar and say, “Here kid, go buy yourself something nice.” At first we took it quite gratefully, but as we got older we felt guilty for taking it as we learned it wouldn't ever buy us anything nice. We sooned realized, though, that the love and price it took to give us those few dollars was priceless. I learned that the people here were carefree and loving and showed their love in various ways.
Another thing I learned was to appreciate life. When we were younger, Landon and I would walk, ride, or run to the nearby park. It was a nice, green, plush little park filled with see saws, huge slides and tons of trees. I would daresay, it was one of my favorite places to be when I was younger. I loved it there. There was also a water fall and huge body of water nearby. I remember one time being with my dad sitting on a ledge looking over the water. He told me of a story of one of his friends who died from getting into the water and falling down the water fall. They found his body a couple days after he died. I remember I was scared to get into the water because of that and quickly got off that ledge. Who knew that such a life sustaining thing as water could be so deadly?
After a couple of days at grandma and grandpa’s house we would take their trailer up into the mountains. Camping and fishing was the second thing we did in Idaho. We would be near the small town of Kilgore. It was hardly inhabited and had quite a character of people. We always passed a farmer with the sign posted, “Only kind of good wolf is a dead wolf”. We would also pass the Kilgore Store where they sold small candies for a penny and the well known monkey bars and honey butter! (I loved honey butter and fry sauce which California doesn’t sell.) We would always camp in the same spot when it was open. There would be a huge field of flowers in front of us and if you looked closer a small stream.
I remember when I was younger that fishing was not fun for me in that stream. I loved the catching of the fish, but when I saw it on the hook I would begin to cry. “Daddy let him go. Let him live! W
ill he be ok?” Hearing the concern in my tone, dad would take the hook out of its mouth and let it back into the water. Sometimes they would swim on their way, but I remember most of all one lazily swimming and then just going along with the current floating on top of the water. It broke my heart. I got better and better at handling the death of the fish. I could gradually watch my dad hit the fishes head on the rock, and then I could tear the worms in half, and then I could watch him clean the fish and show me the heart.It gradually came as I got older and older. It was like my senses each year were becoming duller and duller and I came to realize I was changing. I wasn't the same little girl. I was used to living in an atmosphere that would change with me and in Idaho it was different. Instead of holding tight onto daddy's shirt, he was holding tight onto me from running off. Instead of singing and running in the meadow of flowers, I was now slowly walking picking a flower here and there. In the unchanging enviroment I realized I was different each time.
That is the thing I realize most whenever I go back. Everything seems the same there. Grandma still has the same magnet on the fridge in the same spot. The bag of books on her floor are still there, but I'm different. Instead of worrying about grandma giving me a kiss, I'm worrying about college and money, but change is good. And every year I seem to learn that again. Change is wonderful.
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