Upon Leaving School (Twice), Losing My Mother, and Finding Roots

Upon Leaving School (Twice), Losing My Mother, and Finding Roots

Momma always told me to ‘bloom where I was planted’, but after looking back on the last three years, I’d have to say I’ve subsisted more as a roving tumbleweed, constantly blowing about the barren lands in search of anything that could hold me in place just long enough for the winds to switch, sweeping me off in yet another direction.

The day I marched into the living room, voice shaking, stomach upturned, and told my parents that I would not be going back to Gonzaga, was the day I took the first step down my own path. I had spent my freshmen year at GU. I had been a zag, lining up for hours or days on end to secure some of the best seats in the gym to cheer on our boys. How I got there was fairly random and held no water for me, but it seemed like a good place to go, and it was universally approved by everyone that kept tabs on me. So, it was where I ended up.  

When I decided I wasn’t going back, that was it, there was no turning back. Telling my parents was one thing, but afterwards, I realized that I’d somehow have to break the news to anyone and everyone that asked, including the nosey townsfolk that roved my small hometown. Every time I was asked, I’d blurt out that I was taking time off, or transferring to the U of I, or working for the Forest Service. All of these were true to an extent, but I truly didn’t know what the hell I had gotten myself into, or where I was headed. All I knew was that each time I answered, a mixture of pity, disappointment, and doubt flashed across the inquirers face, mirroring my own internal feelings.

Eventually, my voice began to grow from soft and broken, to strong, stubborn, and even prideful. I realized that everyone I talked to thought I was beginning in on the long trek down letdown lane, but that didn’t mean that I had to concur with their thoughts. Small town pressures could only weigh me down for so long. Many encouraged me with assurances that I’d be okay, and that I’d figure it out at some point- no hurry necessary.

I remember trying to explain my choices, plans, and current occupation to my previous colleagues. Mostly, I received looks of intrigue and blank stares, just another dropout that they didn’t want too close to them, hence I might rub off the stench of failure on their new-ivy clothes.

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The fall took me to places where at each new location, I fell in love. I fell in love with the Monument Rock Wilderness still left preserved in a small pocket of Oregon. I fell in love with the crisp October mornings of Westcliffe, Colorado that left my tent shielded in ice, chips falling off as I unzipped to start the day. I fell in love with the dry river bed of the Hassyampa, clomping alongside my parents on horseback as we made our way through the Arizona desert.

That spring, I returned to school. Starting fresh in Moscow, Idaho, I had transferred to the University of Idaho to complete my degree. Freshmen year is rough. For many of us, we are starting out as a complete stranger, and spend the better part of our first semester securing new friendships. Well, starting out halfway through sophomore year as a complete stranger at a new school is another whole level of difficulty. I had randomly found myself living in a house with other girls of whom I did not previously know. Never fully inducted into the friend group, I had had a hard time making connections due to the fact that I never wanted to leave my basement room.  Without the constant chatter with my mom via cellphone, I never would have lasted the semester.

Finally, May arrived, and I could not move my things out of the house fast enough. I soon found myself on the road to Bend, Oregon to start my new job with the Forest Service as a crew member on a wildland fire module. I had been beyond nervous to move down there and make yet another new start, but my mom had convinced me I’d be alright. She was right. She was always right. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to take on my third season of fire. Surrounded by opportunity, I spent the summer learning, forming connections with great people, and exploring yet another place where I have left a piece of my heart.

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As the days shortened, I returned to Moscow for my junior year of school. A week into the semester,  I had been enjoying my time back, and realizing that the degree field I had chosen was a good fit for me. At the start of the second week, I received a phone call from my brother, relaying to me that our mother had passed away. Once again, I found myself leaving school for the semester.

As hard as it was to accept, I soon found myself at home surrounded by the comfort of three of the biggest, and most favorite, men in my life. This was the comfort we sought without saying. The presence we kept without words. Lots of sleepless nights. Lots of skipped meals. Lots of planning. Between the travel itineraries, food accumulation, and funeral arrangements, the lack of sleep wasn’t what led to my exhaustion.

As the day arrived, September 12^th, we gathered along with a thousand plus people under the roof of a hay barn. Here we celebrated the life that my mother had blessed us all with in some way. As ironic as it sounds, that was a fairly good day, a good way to say goodbye.

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Weeks later, I was racing my dad on one of the ellipticals at the YMCA (really we were both nose-deep in our novels), I set my book down, looked over, and said “we should go to New Zealand.” That was all it took. We began planning: looking over the islands, points of interest, flight information. With the plans far from concrete, and our hopes high that it would all miraculously work out, I left to spend a month in New Mexico.

Here I found myself in good company. Not only was I living with a longtime friend, but he had been able to connect me with a nonprofit in the area. I became an intern at Heading Home. I was working with their media, photos, learning the behind-the-scenes type of work this organization did. In my free time, I was able to explore the beauty that surrounded Albuquerque. Places like the Sandia Mountain range, Ojo Caliente Hot Springs, and Cabezon were a few highlights my feet were able to gloss over while there. As December encroached, we finalized the plans for our New Zealand escapade, I left New Mexico, and met my brother and dad just in time to take off again on a thirteen hour flight across the world.

We spent our days viewing glaciers, winding mountainous roads on the left side (dad wasn’t a fan), hiking through jungle-esque scenes, fly-fishing pristine waters, and kayaking fiords in the presence of dolphins. New Zealand was an experience I won’t soon forget. But, the best part was the company I kept while there.

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Now, moving to present, I’m back at the University of Idaho. Currently in my last week of the spring semester, I couldn’t be happier with the time I’ve taken off to use for personal gains, experiences beyond words, and friendships I’ve formed along the way. Soon, I'll find myself somewhere in the Idaho wilderness, taking on yet another fire season, in (no surprise) another new place. Glad to be back in a place where I find peace, I finally feel as though my roots have started to form somewhere among these Palouse soils.