Mountain Living
My grandfather bought the valley and much of the mountain land surrounding it back in the 1950s. At first, the land was a summer home for my grandmother, my father, and my aunt and uncles to come to away from the NJ hustle and bustle. My grandfather would come up on weekends, spend the time with his family, and then drive the 3 hours back before work on Monday. When my dad, the oldest son, decided to bring his family back home, my grandfather deeded him several hundred acres up the mountain and on the other side of the county road. This is where I grew up, and the place I always think of as home.
I didn't know a lot of the above growing up. By that time, my grandparents had retired and were living in the valley full time. So for me, they were just always there. And that part of my world was unchanging.
When I was young, we would often drive to visit my grandparents. Even though they only lived 5 minutes away, it was safer for my mom than to walk with two young girls down a country road. It was an almost magical journey. At the top of the drive way was a wide turn around. Two dirt tracks headed into the trees. It was impossible to tell, if you didn't already know, which road would take you to the place you needed to be. The road to Grandma and Grandpa's house was the one on the left. The quarter mile of the drive, headed back in the direction we'd just come from, was canopied by trees. In the spring and summer, I loved to watch the sunlight dappling through, making patters on the grass and dirt before us. When I was older and would sometimes walk there, I would hop between the shadows, pretending the bits of light would burn me if I touched them. It was magical.
Eventually, the trees would part and we would be in the valley. Again, the road would fork. If you continued straight - though not very far - you would come beside the old house, the one that my grandparents, Dad, aunt, and uncles lived in during their summer visits. It was old, a little ramshackle, but still a place I loved to visit. From the time I was five, my youngest uncle and his wife lived there. My Aunt Laura was the crazy aunt everyone told you about. Heck, she still is. And I love her for it. We would have bonfires in front of their home where I could watch the embers fly into the sky as we toasted marshmallows over the glowing coals. I would go inside and look at her humor books, lay comfortably on her couch, and often fall asleep. It was one of my favorite places to be.
If you made a right behind the house, then wind around just a little more, you'd come to my grandparents' home. It was a mobile home that they'd added an addition onto. A wooden front porch stood at the entrance, a place to stay dry while watching the rain came down or to stay in the shade during the hottest days of summer. That porch was where I helped my grandmother shell peas - one of the few culinary tasks I still enjoy. Right inside, in the front room, was where the Christmas tree would stand, decked out with ornaments and plenty of gifts under the tree. It was also where my cousins and I would sleep when they would come to visit. My grandparents' house was a place I could spend time with family I didn't see as often as I'd like. It was where I first encountered the "kids table". It's where I had pure maple syrup made from the trees my grandfather and uncle would tap. Even better than the syrup was the maple candy. It was a safe, wonderful place for me.
But even better than the homes was being outside. About 5 acres, if I had to guess, was kept mowed all year round. A lot of it was just an area where we could run and play. It was where my aunt and uncle got married. It's where my cousins and I would come up with games to play. It was from there that I would watch my grandfather's garden grow, or hear the chickens in the coop out back clucking and cawing. And if I went past the house, and around the stand of trees, I would find the small pond, and see the dam that the beavers would make there. Sometimes I'd go with my cousins, but my favorite times were when I'd go with my grandfather and he'd tell me about it. He didn't talk a lot because his stutter made it difficult, but he would still make time to tell me little things about this or that with the beauty around us. Or he'd teach me songs like "Marsie Doates".
I was going to write about my home town, and what life was like there. But I realized that for me, where I come from will always be more that mountain where I would play and grow and learn than the town close by.
I didn't know a lot of the above growing up. By that time, my grandparents had retired and were living in the valley full time. So for me, they were just always there. And that part of my world was unchanging.
When I was young, we would often drive to visit my grandparents. Even though they only lived 5 minutes away, it was safer for my mom than to walk with two young girls down a country road. It was an almost magical journey. At the top of the drive way was a wide turn around. Two dirt tracks headed into the trees. It was impossible to tell, if you didn't already know, which road would take you to the place you needed to be. The road to Grandma and Grandpa's house was the one on the left. The quarter mile of the drive, headed back in the direction we'd just come from, was canopied by trees. In the spring and summer, I loved to watch the sunlight dappling through, making patters on the grass and dirt before us. When I was older and would sometimes walk there, I would hop between the shadows, pretending the bits of light would burn me if I touched them. It was magical.
Eventually, the trees would part and we would be in the valley. Again, the road would fork. If you continued straight - though not very far - you would come beside the old house, the one that my grandparents, Dad, aunt, and uncles lived in during their summer visits. It was old, a little ramshackle, but still a place I loved to visit. From the time I was five, my youngest uncle and his wife lived there. My Aunt Laura was the crazy aunt everyone told you about. Heck, she still is. And I love her for it. We would have bonfires in front of their home where I could watch the embers fly into the sky as we toasted marshmallows over the glowing coals. I would go inside and look at her humor books, lay comfortably on her couch, and often fall asleep. It was one of my favorite places to be.
If you made a right behind the house, then wind around just a little more, you'd come to my grandparents' home. It was a mobile home that they'd added an addition onto. A wooden front porch stood at the entrance, a place to stay dry while watching the rain came down or to stay in the shade during the hottest days of summer. That porch was where I helped my grandmother shell peas - one of the few culinary tasks I still enjoy. Right inside, in the front room, was where the Christmas tree would stand, decked out with ornaments and plenty of gifts under the tree. It was also where my cousins and I would sleep when they would come to visit. My grandparents' house was a place I could spend time with family I didn't see as often as I'd like. It was where I first encountered the "kids table". It's where I had pure maple syrup made from the trees my grandfather and uncle would tap. Even better than the syrup was the maple candy. It was a safe, wonderful place for me.
But even better than the homes was being outside. About 5 acres, if I had to guess, was kept mowed all year round. A lot of it was just an area where we could run and play. It was where my aunt and uncle got married. It's where my cousins and I would come up with games to play. It was from there that I would watch my grandfather's garden grow, or hear the chickens in the coop out back clucking and cawing. And if I went past the house, and around the stand of trees, I would find the small pond, and see the dam that the beavers would make there. Sometimes I'd go with my cousins, but my favorite times were when I'd go with my grandfather and he'd tell me about it. He didn't talk a lot because his stutter made it difficult, but he would still make time to tell me little things about this or that with the beauty around us. Or he'd teach me songs like "Marsie Doates".
I was going to write about my home town, and what life was like there. But I realized that for me, where I come from will always be more that mountain where I would play and grow and learn than the town close by.