Moving

    Who remembers their first move? How many have moved more than once in their lifetimes? How many felt those moves were more of an adventure than a hassle? I suppose age plays a large part in how we answer that last question. For me, the first move came at a time in my life where I was just starting school and making new friends. I was 5 years old when we moved to Hamilton. This was a pretty big move, it started out like an adventure but turned into an arduous journey for a five-year old kid. Only looking back, do I clearly see the adventure.  

    I remember quite well the days leading up to the move. There was a lot of packing, of course, but there was also our dogs and a cat that had to be taken care of by family friends during this move. A friend of my father's had an old route van that we used to move stuff into storage. Just remembering this, tells me there were phases to this move. The biggest thing I remember about the phases was the moving stuff into storage with an old van phase. 

1961 Dodge P300 Route Van similar to the one we used to move.

The reason memories of this van stuck in my mind was that there was only one seat in it and I had to ride on the engine cover as we took stuff across town. We were crossing railroad tracks when my father slammed on the brakes and slid the door open and yelled for me to follow him out of the van. I didn't realize what was going on until he went back into the van and unbuckled the engine cover revealing that the engine compartment was on fire. My memory captured that moment and solidified that day. I remember, clearly that my father was smoking a joint which he'd flick the cherry off of and put it on the center engine cover. My thinking as the event of fire unfolded was that his joint had fallen into the engine compartment and started the fire. I also have a vivid image of the inside of that engine compartment and I clearly see all the wiring on fire. The cause, as far as I remember, was never established, but that old van went to Al Rose's Garage and sat there for years afterward. 

    I believe father wanted to use this van to make the entire move, but ended up having to rent a U-Haul. There were a few things he took to Hamilton before mom and I were moved there. I remember Del helping a lot in the move. He took care of our dogs and also drove the Datsun 280Z, Z-car, to Hamilton. We also had a huge "Cracker Jack" Ford pickup. At one point in my early childhood we had a old Ford Bronco. One story about the Bronco being told was when we slid through a stop sign and were struck by another vehicle which spun us around. Apparently I enjoyed that ride and wanted more, according to the story told. I do not know the fate of that old Bronco, but whenever I saw pictures of it, I always wished we still had it.

    I remember my last day in kindergarten at Jefferson in Helena. The teacher explained that I was moving far away and that they may never see me again. That was partially true, except for those classmates who knew my babysitter, or surrogate mom, Diane. There were several times when we returned to Helena to visit family and friends, we would stop by Diane's. After saying my "goodbyes" to my kindergarten class, we packed up a U-Haul and started the 260 mile journey to our new home. When we came into Missoula I thought that we were finally at our new home, but it was only a pit stop to see my great grandma before heading south on a small deserted highway that led to Hamilton. I remember coming into Hamilton and the huge trees that lined the highway through town. My father had to stop at the realtor's office to get the keys and that moment seemed to take forever. I was just anxious to see our new home. 

    We drove back through town the way we had came in and turned down our new street to our new home. We had lived in a double-wide trailer with a fireplace in Helena, so when I saw this house with no fireplace, it seemed smaller. I remember everything was painted white, probably to make it look bigger, and there were all these purple plums in the stark white kitchen sink. Those plums were a beautiful contrast to all the white. We were given a tour of the property by the previous owner who now lived in a home behind our house. I remember there was a large vacant lot to the west of ours and a huge thorny plum tree/shrub that divided the two properties. I made a fort in this large shrub/plum tree. The only thing that sucked about this fort were all the 1" thorns. This "structure" was made up of at least half a dozen different plum trees. This complex resembled more of a shrub than a tree, but was really cool to climb into, protected by all the thorns. When I invited new friends into the fort, I never warned them about the thorns, I let them figure them out by themselves. One of my friends, Dennis, ended up building his own addition to the fort out of firewood, so that he wouldn't have to deal with the thorns. The rest of the property had other plum trees that did look more like trees and several apple trees that towered over the plum trees. The property behind us was surrounded by a 7-foot wooden fence that all the neighbors called "Fort McCluskey". Fort McCluskey was bordered to the south by our property and the vacant lot to the west of us. The other border to the east was another vacant lot, which is vacant to this day. Kiddie corner from Fort McCluskey was a huge estate owned by the Osterbauers. They had a duck and goose hunting club that filled most of the property between their house and the Bitterroot River that marked the westernmost boundary of their property. Our new home was literally at the edge of town. 

    My parents never moved from this new home in Hamilton. My brother, Byron, was born in this town and he only knew this home and never got to experience a move like I did. I lived in that home for fifteen years and when I graduated high school, I made a tremendous move into the US Navy. The next fifteen years was a rapid-fire series of moves from San Diego to Guam, back to San Diego, back to Hamilton for a short stint, down to Pensacola Florida, to Lemoore California and finally back to Helena when my career in the Navy concluded. Each one of those moves throughout my Navy career will be a seperate blog for each location. 

    I also moved a lot once I was out of the Navy and back in Montana. I moved from Helena up to Havre to attend college. After I received my Bachelor's in Science, I moved back to Helena where I met my wife before moving to Missoula. Our lives were interrupted by my cancer, but we were, literally, in the right place for my cancer. We lived just blocks from where I received my chemo and radiation treatments. When my cancer went into remission, we had to make a shortlist of places to move where the climate was warmer, because the cold winters pained my body, which turned out to be a symptom of my hidden cancer. We settled on moving to Southern Utah, not far from Mesquite and Las Vegas Nevada, in a tiny northern corner of the Mojave Desert. This is my current, and probably last home. I am happy to share it with my wife and our two dogs, Kona and Duke. 

    Moving, for me, has always been a grand adventure. I understand how moves can be stressful, when leaving friends and familiar places behind. I am certain if my wife had to write about all the moving she did as a child, the stories would be less about adventure and more about simply being uprooted and relocated. 

    Subsequent blogs will center around these adventures.Each place is a place I've called home. Each home a new adventure and experience that has made me who I am today. These will be my series of memoirs. These memoirs make up the "who" in my existence. What I am, is dying. Who I am will be forever located, here, in the digital world, with the telling of every adventure.