Growing up in Boise offered some great childhood experiences for me but one of the cons to living in the City of Trees was the separation from my extended family in Jerome. Most of the friends I talk to don’t seem to have had the same family relationships I did growing up. Cousins to them are distant relatives that are only seen once every few years. Cousins to me are some of the best friends, mates for life, and fellow adventurers I’ll ever have. And what great adventures we had! All set against the backdrop called Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
Summer vacations, weekend trips and especially Thanksgiving holidays were always filled with as much anticipation about going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house as I had while trying to sleep during Christmas Eve night.
Going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house is probably the single most cherished childhood memory(ies) I have. It was a place of love, a refuse from the storm, and no matter how complicated my life became or how far I strayed from the straight and narrow path, I always felt welcome there. I almost couldn’t wait for the moment I first opened the front door and walked into their home. Grandpa would yell out from his chair, “It’s Clay!” and then roar into his contagious laughter. Grandma would sit quietly in her chair; smiling and waiting for me to walk over and give her a kiss on the cheek. I would then walk over to give Grandpa a hug and, as if on cue, get caught in his rat trap. I always felt like I was their favorite grandchild and I know that is how every one of the grandkids felt when they were there.
It was hard living in Boise and watching the dynamics and relationships of the “Jerome” cousins. I always felt like an outsider, never a part of the clique, not really “knowing” all the inside jokes. But I never felt that way with Grandma and Grandpa. They loved me unconditionally and I knew it.
But their house did forge two of the greatest relationships I have ever had, Cory and Nick. As soon as Grandpa would let me out of his rat trap I would be on the phone asking how fast they could get there. Once together we would see how much mischief we could cram into a single day.
The house itself was a collage of adventure. Hide-and-go-seek was the game of choice. Usually taking place in the basement. The basement. One long room divided down its length by a single wall. There was the “good side” filled with light and movies, and books, and horseshoes, and pool. Then there was the “dark side”. You know the side. Dark. Physically. Psychologically. A single light bulb hung in the center with a pull-chain that was always a little too short. You would run at full speed into the darkness, praying as you leaped into the air, “Please let me grab the chain on the first try!” Even then it would only emit enough light to feed the ever present shadows that lived there. Revealing a storage room filled with boxes, chests, old photographs and mysteries. At one end lay a single bare mattress that made it look more dungeon than storage room. Still we explored its realm fearlessly. Never afraid to be there by ourselves. Well… there was one room. Its name alone would strike fear in the hearts of even the bravest of the cousins. The Fruit Cellar! Even today my heart races at the thought of stepping into its pitch black void. I dare not speak of it any further for fear of awaking the nightmares that slumber there.
Oh, how we loved the basement!
Outside the cherry trees became a dark and sinister forest. Each one of us had our own special area of the trees marked off as “our forts”. We defended them fiercely. The grove of trees about half-way between Grandma and Grandpa’s house and Kathy and Stan’s house held a deep and forgotten magic. We would spend hours there contemplating the mysterious of life like, “Exactly how are we going to scare Amber, Kelsey and Kara today?”
We also had the Rough Road. The Rough Road was as much a part of our family as any single person was. A dusty, dirt road that was only passable by foot most the time. A half a mile long yet once you set out on it you never knew where you’d end up. The Rough Road was our “Yellow Brick Road”.
Then there was the canal, known simply as, “The Canal”. The canal was a living, breathing creature that methodically snaked its way through the fields beckoning, yea, even daring us to enter. We would arm ourselves with whatever weapons we could find; a tree branch; a bar of rebar; even bailing twine and then we would step foot into that cool, dark water and instantly be transported to a world of imagination where danger lurked around every bend. And we would risk life and limb to discover her secrets! Countless times we would allow ourselves to be sucked into the tunnels that went under the roads hoping, even praying, we would actually pop out on the other side. Cory would always go first. He was the bravest of us. And if he did go, Nick and I knew there would be no backing out. If one went… we all went. It was unspoken but it was law. How we didn’t drown I will never know.
As we grew older and life began to happen my time in Jerome slowly faded away. Soon I would only see my extended family once every year or so. I had become like my friends. And when a couple of choices I made in my life seemed to further alienate me from my family I thought there was no going back. It wasn’t until I had a son of my own and finally brought him to meet his great-grandparents that it all made sense. Kresimir had just learned to walk and when I set him down in front of his great-grandparents for the first time he walked straight into Grandma’s outstretched hands and the same with Grandpa. He laughed with them and instantly felt comfortable in their arms. The loved him unconditionally and he knew it.
Summer vacations, weekend trips and especially Thanksgiving holidays were always filled with as much anticipation about going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house as I had while trying to sleep during Christmas Eve night.
Going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house is probably the single most cherished childhood memory(ies) I have. It was a place of love, a refuse from the storm, and no matter how complicated my life became or how far I strayed from the straight and narrow path, I always felt welcome there. I almost couldn’t wait for the moment I first opened the front door and walked into their home. Grandpa would yell out from his chair, “It’s Clay!” and then roar into his contagious laughter. Grandma would sit quietly in her chair; smiling and waiting for me to walk over and give her a kiss on the cheek. I would then walk over to give Grandpa a hug and, as if on cue, get caught in his rat trap. I always felt like I was their favorite grandchild and I know that is how every one of the grandkids felt when they were there.
It was hard living in Boise and watching the dynamics and relationships of the “Jerome” cousins. I always felt like an outsider, never a part of the clique, not really “knowing” all the inside jokes. But I never felt that way with Grandma and Grandpa. They loved me unconditionally and I knew it.
But their house did forge two of the greatest relationships I have ever had, Cory and Nick. As soon as Grandpa would let me out of his rat trap I would be on the phone asking how fast they could get there. Once together we would see how much mischief we could cram into a single day.
The house itself was a collage of adventure. Hide-and-go-seek was the game of choice. Usually taking place in the basement. The basement. One long room divided down its length by a single wall. There was the “good side” filled with light and movies, and books, and horseshoes, and pool. Then there was the “dark side”. You know the side. Dark. Physically. Psychologically. A single light bulb hung in the center with a pull-chain that was always a little too short. You would run at full speed into the darkness, praying as you leaped into the air, “Please let me grab the chain on the first try!” Even then it would only emit enough light to feed the ever present shadows that lived there. Revealing a storage room filled with boxes, chests, old photographs and mysteries. At one end lay a single bare mattress that made it look more dungeon than storage room. Still we explored its realm fearlessly. Never afraid to be there by ourselves. Well… there was one room. Its name alone would strike fear in the hearts of even the bravest of the cousins. The Fruit Cellar! Even today my heart races at the thought of stepping into its pitch black void. I dare not speak of it any further for fear of awaking the nightmares that slumber there.
Oh, how we loved the basement!
Outside the cherry trees became a dark and sinister forest. Each one of us had our own special area of the trees marked off as “our forts”. We defended them fiercely. The grove of trees about half-way between Grandma and Grandpa’s house and Kathy and Stan’s house held a deep and forgotten magic. We would spend hours there contemplating the mysterious of life like, “Exactly how are we going to scare Amber, Kelsey and Kara today?”
We also had the Rough Road. The Rough Road was as much a part of our family as any single person was. A dusty, dirt road that was only passable by foot most the time. A half a mile long yet once you set out on it you never knew where you’d end up. The Rough Road was our “Yellow Brick Road”.
Then there was the canal, known simply as, “The Canal”. The canal was a living, breathing creature that methodically snaked its way through the fields beckoning, yea, even daring us to enter. We would arm ourselves with whatever weapons we could find; a tree branch; a bar of rebar; even bailing twine and then we would step foot into that cool, dark water and instantly be transported to a world of imagination where danger lurked around every bend. And we would risk life and limb to discover her secrets! Countless times we would allow ourselves to be sucked into the tunnels that went under the roads hoping, even praying, we would actually pop out on the other side. Cory would always go first. He was the bravest of us. And if he did go, Nick and I knew there would be no backing out. If one went… we all went. It was unspoken but it was law. How we didn’t drown I will never know.
As we grew older and life began to happen my time in Jerome slowly faded away. Soon I would only see my extended family once every year or so. I had become like my friends. And when a couple of choices I made in my life seemed to further alienate me from my family I thought there was no going back. It wasn’t until I had a son of my own and finally brought him to meet his great-grandparents that it all made sense. Kresimir had just learned to walk and when I set him down in front of his great-grandparents for the first time he walked straight into Grandma’s outstretched hands and the same with Grandpa. He laughed with them and instantly felt comfortable in their arms. The loved him unconditionally and he knew it.
5 comments:
What a touching rendition of our past carefree times together. I remember a few things slightly different, but I'm sure it is just perspective. I recall our "last fandango" that turned out to be a dud. In retrospect, I think it really was the beginning of the end. I only hope that now we can begin again with our children in tow!
Of course, I accept the fact that time has blurred my memory and I am sure that I have exaggerated and romanticized many of those memories. But that’s what Jerome was for me, an escape. Boise was always the “real world”. But you are right, it is all a matter of perspective.
Wonderful, perfect descriptions of all the adventures. I especially loved the "dark" side of the basement, and the Rough Road as part of the family. It was only a few years ago that it occurred to me that "Rough Road" was not a proper noun, but rather an adjective and noun. I can't believe we used to play in the canals and that we all survived to tell the tale. One memory I would add is playing cowboys & indians on the haystacks. That was another favorite for me. Thanks for the fun jaunt down memory lane. Those were magical times.
I have a completely different memory, mainly, being afraid of the cherry trees, (Clay told me they were haunted, Kelsey and Amber SWORE they saw a ghost, and Brook heard noises)...let's just say I was really, really scared of the cherry trees. It was true about the rough road though, I always had to be careful there wasn't mischievious brothers hiding, waiting patiently to scare me. I loved the old tractor in the horse pasture, that and the trees out in the cow pasture. Those were my favorite places. I understand about feeling like the outsider from all the Jerome Cousins, and I agree with you on the unconditional love from grandma and grandpa.
I didn't realize you were such a good and inciteful writer! What an amazing account of our childhood in Jerome. I remember it just the way you do and it was always my favorite place to be. Thanks for putting into words so many of my memories.
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