Epilogue?

I’m sorry for the lack of updates.  I’ve been busy with my other projects, of which the main one is my new son.  He just turned three months about five or so days ago.  I’ve also been trying to figure out how to wrap up this small chapter in my life.

I’m still not sure why I became so fixated on Farmington earlier this year.  I started this blog just to write about it, and that concept doesn’t lend itself to a long life.  I’ve covered most of what happened on the trip, or at least what I remember.  Next August it will have been twenty-five years since that month in 1984.  I have one of the best memories of anyone I know, but even for me it’s getting hazy.

Part of me wanted to go back to Farmington in 2008, but financially and time-wise (the start of my family) it just didn’t make sense.  I don’t think driving across the country with a one year old next summer is a great idea, so I don’t think I’ll get back anytime soon.  I will get back there someday, and maybe I’ll find whatever it is I thought I was going to find this past year.

Anyway, back in 1984 things returned to normal.  The kids in school, who picked on me a bit, were all happy to see me back in Veblen.  Everyone was quite surprised that I was back.  “Didn’t you move?” was the common question, but I got some chuckles spinning that answer for a few days.  They didn’t have enough desks the first day I was back, so I had to sit at a table in the back of the classroom.  My scout troop left a note wishing me farewell, and since I was back I could have gone back, but I didn’t.  I was never that into the scout thing, so I just let that lapse.  My mother and her boyfriend resumed their relationship, and were married a few years later.  My brother was transferred from Farmington to Minnesota, then to Arizona, then someplace else I think (he wasn’t there long) and finally he landed…in Pierre.  He’s been there for a while, and I’ve been there to see him a few times.  I still love the city of Pierre, and Dakotamart was still open the last time I was there in July.  My mother and brother patched things up, and now they seem to be quite okay with each other.  I tried talking to my mom about Farmington once or twice, but she doesn’t like talking about “horrible” things.  I’m not sure what was so horrible, but she has a unique way with words.

I was going to delete this blog a bit after it was over, or I was going to reboot it with a new topic or focus.  I’ve decided to let it sit here until I actually get back to Farmington.  I’ll have a place to share the experience , but don’t expect many updates until then (my blogroll links on the side are other places I write, in case this wasn’t enough).  My little man is stirring from his nap, so on this final update until a later date, I wish you all a great 2009, and Farmington…I hope to see you soon.

Veblen, South Dakota (arrival)

I almost don’t want to title this blog “Veblen, SD”.  It is the town I grew up in (except for that month in 1984) and just one blog with that name seemed painfully inadequate.  Still, as I’ve been documenting the journey taken back then, each destination was mentioned in the title.  So, rather than change it now, I’ll press on.

My mom wanted to get an early start in Big Springs, Nebraska.  I’ve never been much of an early riser, and even in 1984 I was tough to wake up.  My mom was able to get me up and at ‘em, and back to the eatery by the hotel where we had supper.  I’m pretty sure I had some kind of cereal there, and my mind tells me it was either Special K or Rice Krispies.  I’m not sure what my mom ate, but I’m guessing it consisted mostly of a cigarette and black coffee.  I don’t remember much of what she ate on the trip at all, and that probably isn’t too surprising.  What kids make a note of what their parents eat?  I was so very tired, and I didn’t want to be up and at ‘em at 5:30 AM.  My mom was eager to get going, and she told me I could sleep in the truck as we drove East.  So, I arranged the seat-belt in such a way that I could get some sleep.  I must have slept most of the morning, but it wasn’t a restful sleep.  What seemed like every few seconds, a semi truck shot past us.  My mom isn’t exactly a slow driver, but she’s no lead-foot either.  For a few hours, I would sleep and occasionally open my eyes to watch a truck fly by, and usually gone before I could see what it was carrying or what was written on the side.  It was on that drive that I think I most wanted to be a truck driver.  They seemed to be moving so much faster than we were, and they had someplace to go that may have been totally new to them.  This drive was nothing new to me, as the rest of the way was already road I knew.  My wife hates the fact I’m always looking for new ways to go places, or that sometimes I want to take a bit of a scenic route.  She’s all about getting from point to point quickly, where I like to see things I’ve never seen before on the drive.  That might be the topic for another blog another day.

I gave up trying to sleep around 9 AM or so, and not too long after that we rolled into North Platte.  I double checked the map, and told my mom what road we needed to get on to head North to South Dakota.  The drive North was a lot more scenic than the previous several hours on the Interstate.  I remember quite a few more trees popping up, and some twists in the road.  My mom’s mood had changed slightly as well.  Rather than being worn down and pensive, she seemed happier and more focused on the destination.  Once we crossed into South Dakota, my navigation had its first challenge.

We drove North to Interstate 90, and then we had to drive Eastward again.  My mom was suddenly annoyed with me, as she thought we were much closer to Pierre than I had let on.  I insisted this is exactly the way my brother had taken us, and that Pierre wasn’t that close to Nebraska (the town is practically in the middle of the state).  This back and forth went on for a few miles, until we hit the Pierre exit.  She thought that Pierre was going to be right off the exit, but we still had 30 miles of driving before then.  She was mad at me, but I insisted on pleading my case.  Eventually, she dropped it and said something to the effect of “well I just misunderstood you” or something like that.  30 miles of grassland and a few hills later, we pulled into Pierre, South Dakota once again, and I talked her into stopping at the Red Owl Superstore.

The Red Owl Superstore is one of my favorite places of all time to go to.  Some of my first memories of wide aisles of toys, Charles Schulz books on the shelf, and elevator rides were at the Red Owl Superstore in Pierre.  It seemed to have everything that Stavig’s in Sisseton didn’t, and it had an elevator, which gave me that big city feeling.  Every trip to Pierre when my brother lived there wound up at the Red Owl Superstore at some point.  I still have my die-cast Millennium Falcon that my parents bought me, along with a few Peanuts books.  The store is still there, but since Red Owl faded away it has become a store called Dakotamart.  I’ve been there a few times, and it’s mostly the same.  It doesn’t seem as impressive or magical anymore, but it still demands I go to it every time I’m in Pierre.

Anyway, back in September of 1984 I was in the Red Owl superstore, and I was looking for a new Star Wars figure.  I was all about Star Wars action figures then, but I should have seen the end of that hobby coming fast.  Jedi had been out for a year, and it wasn’t the same since most of the bad guys were dead, and the rebels had won.  I didn’t find any Star Wars figures, but I found something better.  Something I didn’t know I wanted, but I knew I wanted it when i saw it.  There, on the shelf, were Optimus Prime and Megatron.  I’d seen a few commercials for this new Transformers line here and there, but I’d never seen them in a store, and they looked so freakin’ cool it hurt.  I wanted both, but I couldn’t have both.  It turned out that at twenty dollars a robot, my mom didn’t have the resources to buy me either.  I was usually a pro at twisting my mom’s arm into buying me toys, but she just didn’t have the money.  I remember going back and looking at her, but her tired face kept telling me no, even though I knew deep down she wanted to say yes.  I wonder if she was thinking about the past month of uprooting ourselves only to try to replant ourselves back in Veblen after giving up on New Mexico.  Maybe I’m just assigning what I’d like to think she was thinking at the time.  I think a more realistic thought in her mind was “hurry up, I want to go home.”  So, Optimus Prime and Megatron would have to wait to come home with me.  I’ll never know what became of the two in Pierre, but I found mine in Wahpeton, North Dakota and Sisseton, South Dakota.  My mom was willing to buy me an action figure, since she had about five dollars to spare.  There were no Star Wars figures in stock, but there was one action figure of equal size left.  All alone, on the shelf by my mom, was Cobra Commander from the G.I. Joe line, in all his original chrome dome glory.  Anyone who knows me knows that while a big Transformer fan, I’m more a G.I. Joe fan.  I started my G.I. Joe collection about a year or so later, thanks to WGN showing “The Revenge of Cobra” and my luck in finding a Zartan figure.  I decided that I’d rather go home with nothing if I couldn’t get Optimus or Megatron, so Cobra Commander didn’t find a home that day.  I eventually found several Cobra Commanders for my collection, but no original ones until I got a lucky bid in on eBay about six years ago.

Looking back now, it is a bit odd that on my way back home, I had a chance to prematurely embrace the two toy and cartoon lines that I would be a fan of to this day, and that my enjoyment in making up stories for them would allow me to eventually make up stories for role playing games, which led me to making some of my best friends, which led me to come out of my shell more, which led me to take chances…which in a way led me to meeting my wife.  Maybe that’s taking it a bit too far, but for the sake of making that trip to the Red Owl Superstore overly important, I’ll say it isn’t.

The drive from Pierre to Veblen was a total blur.  My mom and I were ready to put an end to this month long experiment.  I wanted to get back to my friends in school, and I’m sure my mom wanted to get back to her boyfriend (and soon my step-dad).  Our house was being looked after by a dear old friend, and I was already dealing with the fact I’d never see my cat again.  We took her out to a farm because she couldn’t go with us, and she’d ran off sometime between us leaving and my mom deciding to come back.  Part of me wondered if anything in Veblen had changed, but nothing in Veblen ever changed back then.  We rolled into our old driveway, keyed into our old house, and decided to unpack the next day.  Just like that, we were back and like we had never left.  It was almost more like a vacation than a move, but it was no vacation.  It was an experience I’ll never forget, but one I didn’t think about much for a long time.

Now that I’ve recounted the journey to and from Farmington, New Mexico, there’s the matter of what to do with this blog.  I’ll work on that for the epilogue, as I hope to do one more blog about going back to school, and how things did change in the following weeks, months and years.  Plus, I’m hoping to find time to reread everything I’ve posted in the last few months, and figure out how to bring this story to a proper close.

Itineraries, chokecherries, queries?

Time to turn to page 24 of our Farmington Visitor guide, for a section about itineraries. The first itinerary is eight days of recommended sights, spots, and directions. It sounds quite inviting, especially to someone like me, who can barely comprehend taking a week off, much less eight days that far away from home. It isn’t that I get homesick easily. I just don’t like taking time off from work. My job is often more enjoyable than it is insufferable. Also, in spite of being blessed with a low self-esteem, I often feel like my place of employment needs me on a daily basis. I’ve taken time off before, and every time I come back the building is still standing, we’re still profitable, and it takes me a few days to snap back to worker bee mode. I’m not sure if the itinerary is the ideal one, but I must give props to the writer of the visitor guide. They sold me on making Farmington the center of any eight day trip around New Mexico. Now, if only I was making an eight day trip to New Mexico.

For the more reasonable trip around the New Mexico area, they follow the eight day trip with several day trip ideas, and once again each one deftly described with Farmington as the center of all you’d need to see. First up are the visits to American Indian Culture centers of the area. As an eleven year old, much of what I knew about American Indians was a mix of what my less-than politically correct mom said, and my interactions with a few Native Americans in school. I’ve had some years to think things over a bit, along with a read of Vine Deloria’s Custer Died for Your Sins. I think I’d enjoy a tour of several of these areas now, but as a fifth grader it would have been me looking around trying to look interested. While not a worldly fifth-grader, I was a polite one.

The next set of day trips revolved around the Four Corners area, and the looping around to get to it that can involve seeing other sights. I don’t remember knowing about the Four Corners as a kid, which is odd considering how I spent many afternoons. My brother had a complete set of Collier’s Encyclopedias in High School, and he left them behind once he departed for college. They were in decent shape, and there was even a yearbook with new info for 1964. I’m not going to say I read them all of the time, but I did get some use out of them. I often would grab one at random and flip through to the maps, which were on easy to find glossy paper. I didn’t memorize many state capitols that way, but I did learn what countries were where. Along with countries, I also had a pretty good grasp on the states, but I don’t think I realized that only one spot had four states meeting until much later.

My propensity to remain indoors is mostly deserved, but if I get the opportunity to visit Farmington again I’ll spend a great deal of time taking in a lot of what the area has to offer in the outdoors. One of the last really good times I had in an outdoor setting was a few years ago in Pierre while making a rare visit to my brother. After arriving, I was told that the men of the family were going to pick chokecherries. My mom’s lake cabin had a ton of wild chokecherry bushes, and often I’d find myself helping her with them, even though I’d rather be in the cabin playing with whatever toys I brought, reading a book I brought, or watching the one channel that came in on the old black and white TV we had at the cabin. I was never a fan of picking chokecherries. My sister-in-law must have known this, and she reminded me that I didn’t have to go along. For some reason, I did go along. I picked chokecherries with my brother and nephews for maybe an hour in a grove of trees near the Missouri river. Not only did I pick them, I had fun picking them. Just thinking about this now, along with thinking about my mom’s old lake cabin makes me realize how lucky I was, and how much I didn’t appreciate my mom keeping that old lake cabin a lot longer than she probably wanted to, in hopes that I’d get something out of it. I didn’t get as much out of it as I should have, but I treasure what I did get out of it. I should just be happy that I’m not growing up now. Between digital cable, the internet and my iPod I might never have picked chokecherries, gone wandering around the lake alone, rolled and tumbled down hills, thrown rocks in the water, and actually done a bit of fishing, before I decided that fishing was one of the most boring things one could do. I think I could do it now, but only if my iPod was charged and I wasn’t worried about dropping it in the lake.

The query part of the subject deals with the fact I will soon have my own child, and what opportunities I can offer him/her. I can’t afford a lake cabin, I don’t know how to swim, and I’d be in big trouble if I ever got lost in the woods. I didn’t like my mom forcing outdoor life and exercise on me as a kid, but now I’ll be forced with wondering how to involve my son/daughter in things like this. I’ll accept them whether they’re wilderness scouts or computer programmers, but I want to make sure they have every chance to figure out what they are, and how to make it a integral part of their life. Maybe one of them can teach me how to swim someday, or at the very least can help me pick chokecherries so my wife can try her hand at my mom’s chokecherry jelly.

One final odd note about the Farmington itineraries. One of the points of interest listed in one is the power plant. It seemed a bit odd, until a few pages later. The power company bought a half page add, which makes the power plant destination not seem as far fetched. After all, Farmington is only about 30,000 people, and visitor guides don’t pay for themselves.

Pierre, SD

Pierre was the first stop on the way to New Mexico. My brother had flown into the airport in Aberdeen to help with the drive. We had our pickup packed up (complete with my Star Wars toy collection) and we were off the next day. As we started the drive, my brother mentioned that we should “say goodbye to green” as there wouldn’t be as much green on the ground once we got to New Mexico. I had high hopes for a cactus in the front yard at that point. After that comment and schoolboy thoughts of sand dunes and a double armed saguaro in my new front yard, going to Pierre was probably the least eventful part of the journey southwest. I do remember glancing behind us quite a bit to make sure my Millennium Falcon didn’t get blown out of the back of the truck. When the tarp started to slip a bit somewhere on US 14 between Harrold and Blunt, I got extra worried, which was something my brother exploited to really panic me. I don’t remember where we ate that night, but it’s possible we went to McDonalds, as I had the “we must eat at McDonalds” condition that kids get. My brother had lived lived in Pierre before (he even lives there now) and he met his wife during his first stay, so we even crashed that night at my sister-in-law’s parent’s house (they weren’t there, but I don’t remember why). I slept on the living room couch, after I watched a few ABC shows that lasted all of a year (one was called “The Master” but I don’t remember what the other was). My slumber that night didn’t exactly go off without a hitch. Some of my sister-in-law’s relatives were also crashing there, and they had taken part in some of Pierre’s nightlife. I think this was my first experience being woken up by drunks (not my last, although I took a break until college from this predicament). They were very polite, and soon I was back to sleep. I didn’t sleep much that night. I’d never been out of the Dakotas or Wyoming by that point, and I kept wondering how I’d meet new people. It wasn’t that I was shy, it was that I knew I was shy and made no bones about it. I was already missing Sam Pitzl’s craziness, Lynne Anderson’s smile (I had the biggest crush on her back then) and my friend Don, who’d been a real pal since first grade. I think I got all of an hour of sleep that night, a night that would foreshadow my lifetime of being a worrywart (but I’m working on it). That morning we hit the McDonalds for breakfast around six AM, and as we crossed the Missouri River I tried to stay awake. I was so very tired, but I was about to see Nebraska and Colorado for the first time, and I didn’t want to miss any of it.

There and back

So, while the wife and I were cleaning the hall upstairs, I found an old atlas. That was handy, because I keep forgetting the Nebraska town we spent the night in on the way back. So, I thought I’d post the stops on the way.

To New Mexico:

Veblen, SD to Pierre, SD

Pierre, SD to Denver, CO

Denver CO to Farmington, NM

To South Dakota:

Farmington, NM to Alamosa, CO

Alamosa CO to Big Springs, NE

Big Springs, NE to Veblen, SD.

My mom didn’t want to go through Denver again, so as a fifth grader I helped plan the trip home, and I was in charge of finding all the right roads. Thanks to Yahoo maps, I discovered my route was only 34 miles longer than my brother’s route to New Mexico. That was a neat and unexpected find, as I’d thought I added a lot more in bypassing Denver (besides me thinking my route was much more scenic in Colorado).

So, that’s what I was thinking about today. It sounds like we won’t be making the trip this year, and with a child on the way it probably won’t happen for a few years. Still, someday, someway, I’ll make this journey again. Farmington isn’t going anywhere.