Homecoming

You know that feeling when you drive into a place and your whole body just exhales?

A deep sigh of relief.

A homecoming.

That is Montana.

I’ve never actually lived in Montana, mind you. My dad was born in Deer Lodge (near Helena) and lived there until his family relocated to Washington, so I have roots here. Maybe that’s why I feel a deep connection to this place; or maybe because during college, I drove the landscape countless times on my trips back and forth between Seattle and Boulder.

I remember one specific drive to Seattle; the sun was setting as we headed West. My passenger (for the life of me I can’t remember who was with me) was asleep, and I experienced about an hour of quiet bliss as I chased the sunset across the landscape. Every hill I crested, the sun would peek back up over the horizon and I was gifted with it’s descent all over again. It felt like it went on forever, like the sun was playing a private game with me, joyously urging me to catch it. I will never forget that drive, it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever experienced.

To this day I find myself chasing sunsets.

This trip, as we drove into Glacier National Park for the first time, Montana again blew my mind.

The landscape is just… indescribable. Just go there and see for yourself, will you?

The kids all crowded up in front with me to watch the scenery, and as they hoarded my stash of car candy, I had this moment of deep connection.

Werther’s Originals.

They are my drive candy of choice. I’ve always loved them, but generally only buy them for road trips.

My dad always had a bowl of them on the counter at his house. When we would go there for the weekend, I would immediately raid the candy bowl, leaving wrappers stashed around the house. Shaking his head, my sweet dad would laughingly refill the bowl. Never criticizing, just letting me have my indulgence for the few days we were there.

So that’s where we found ourselves; driving through the land that birthed my Dad, the kids crowded around me, giggling and sneaking handfuls of the candy that always snaps me right back to memories of him.

None of it planned.

Serendipity.

A simultaneous connection of three generations between landscape and treats.

For those of you who don’t know, my Dad passed away when I was twelve. My parents divorced when I was three, so my time spent with him was limited to weekends and longer vacations in the summer and over school breaks.

My Dad had us later in life, he was 53 when I was born. He was a Navy man in World War II, always telling us stories of his time stationed in Hawaii; the friends he made and the friends he lost when his ship went down in the Pacific.

When he would pick us up from school, all of my friends asked if he was my Grandpa.

My memories with him are steeped in nature and stillness.

On the short weekends, we wouldn’t do much. Go on walks around the neighborhood, maybe go out to dinner or drive up to Stanwood to visit his family. Play a round of Skip-Bo or work on a puzzle. On Sundays my sister and I would sit by the fire and read or make friendship bracelets while my Dad watched football in his recliner.

He was retired and led a pretty quiet life; and for most of the time I can recall, he was also in the midst of fighting Lymphoma. I’m guessing he was tired. I’m guessing we were a lot. But I don’t ever remember feeling bored or restless; I loved the quiet. I loved the stillness. I still do.

On longer weekends or summer breaks we would go to his cabin on Harstene Island or cruise through the San Juan Islands on his Tollycraft. A Navy man, still. Roche Harbor was always my favorite, it felt like stepping back in time. It was on these islands where I first experienced the deep connection with nature that lives in me to this day. I spent incalculable hours wandering trails with my Dad; searching for the perfect walking stick, noticing the spectacular intricacies of the ecosystem, doing our best to avoid stepping on slugs.

I could spend forever getting lost on old growth rainforest trails, or poking along the rugged, rocky beaches of Puget Sound.

Back to Glacier.

We planned to take the kids on a long hike, filled our backpacks with water and snacks, prepared for the long haul. But in trying to miss the weekend crowds we ended up hitting the trail on the worst weather day. We drove out to the Avalanche trailhead anyway, hoping for the best.

It was pouring rain when we got there, and the whining had already started. I wasn’t sure I had the mental fortitude to withstand 5 miles of grumpy, wet children.

We settled for walking the Trail of the Cedars loop instead; a short .8 mile path through the forest.

The first step transported me right back to my childhood.

Right back to the wooded trails of Washington.

Right back to my Dad.

The dense forest floor, covered in ferns and undergrowth.

The towering cedars, some of them valiantly attempting to hold up their fallen friends.

Everything covered in moss.

The drip drip drip of the rain.

THE SMELL. Sweet. Fresh. Home.

It was unexpected, I didn’t realize that the rainforest extended this far inland. I thought the forest would be closer to the dry landscapes of Colorado. I was wrong.

I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

For the first time I felt like I was able to share the essence of my childhood with my kids. To give them a taste of my past, and a small connection with the Grandpa they never met. There will be much more of this once we get to Washington, for sure.

But this moment, this surprising catapult back in time… it was profound. It was perfection.

Werther’s and rainforests, who knew?

I feel you here, Dad.

The kids felt their Grandpa George.

I miss you. We love you.