Change happens every moment, accumulating mostly in unnoticeable measures. Think of the relative who remarks how much your child has grown since last summer. But sometimes monumental changes occur in short and dramatic order, seemingly in series of three.
This spring, the last of my children to attend Spring Garden Waldorf School graduated the eighth grade. I enrolled my eldest son there in January of 2001 and, after driving from our home in Ohio City for two years, decided to move to Akron.
Unlike public schools, Waldorf teachers and administrators are not hemmed in by federal and state testing requirements that limit innovation and the deployment of scientifically proven best practices. Waldorf students don't know that. They believe it's normal to have outdoor recess in all weather, the same classroom teacher and classmates for eight years, no computers nor textbooks. Classmates bond like cousins, which explains the gauntlet of events that filled our calendar prior to Leif's graduation.
The next morning, we began three days of hard driving. Five days after Leif's graduation, we attended my son Hugo's wedding in the Teton Mountains.
Hugo and his bride, Claudia, chose to wed at a scenic lookout in front of Grand Teton Mountain. Instead of nearby Jackson Hole, Wyoming which is horrendously touristy and expensive, everyone was booked in a resort just across the border in Idaho. Then, three days before the wedding, the Teton Pass collapsed, increasing the drive from the resort to the wedding site by two hours each way.
Portending a successful marriage, the bride and groom swiftly found an alternate site near our hotel, which turned out to be as good, if not better, than the original one. The weather mimicked the bride's serene beauty, while the ceremony included charming traditions both old and new.
The next day everyone dispersed, most heading back east.
We drove west to Crater Moon National Park and stayed the night in Twin Falls, Idaho. From there we traveled to Salt Lake City, where I have dear family and countless ancestral sites. I showed my youngest children the homestead property of my great-great grandparents, Christina and Soren Peder Henrichsen. Born in Sweden, they were children when they immigrated to Holladay, Utah, where they raised 10 children.
After two days of heritage touring, Lyra flew back to Ohio with family, leaving Leif and me to began our own adventure. In 2007, my first three sons and I circled most of the country in my 5-speed Toyota Matrix. That summer the boys were 13, 10 and 7 and their father and I had decided to divorce. Two of them think of their childhoods as pre- and post-road trip segments, yet, in spite of the divorce, they frequently refer to the trip with fondness.
Leif will be a freshman at Akron Early College High School this August, going from a small school to a college campus. Hearkening the '07 road trip, I was eager to spend time away with my last son during the liminal months between his boyhood and young adulthood.
The drive from Salt Lake City to our campsite in Grand Teton National Park was just under six hours. When we arrived, we learned the temperature that night would plummet to 28 degrees and it would snow (back east, Akron was sweltering under a heat dome). At the park gift shop, we bought woolen caps and socks, insulated mittens and thermal sweatpants.
That night, we broke a national park rule. Wearing all our new gear, coats and several shirts, we took blankets and sleeping bags into our car where we slept poorly, yet giggled through our temporary discomfort. The truth is, many of the best memories are made when handling life's challenges well.
The next day we made the short trip to Yellowstone National Park, where we spent two days. The park understandably forbids cell towers to dot its vistas, making cell service almost non-existent. But as we pitched our campsite, a call came through from my sister. Our step-father had been unexpectedly diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer.
Bob McGhee is the only grandfather my children have ever known. A laconic man, the boys realized early on that the best time with Gramps, as they call him, was when helping him at the cemetery where he was sexton. He taught them how to use power equipment, but also how to fish. Two days after my eldest son graduated from high school, he was working at the job Gramps had gotten him. Together they buried an unembalmed body that had been packed in dry ice and flown to northern Michigan from California.
When the boys were in college, they'd drive up in mid-May to help Gramps prep the cemetery for Memorial Day. He never asked, they just showed up and spent time with the man who always showed up for them in whatever way he could.
As Leif and I worked our way back east over several days, he frequently told me he was glad we were road tripping. This summer, my youngest son leaves behind the things of a child, while his brother Hugo begins life as a husband and their grandfather prepares to make the greatest transition. My sons quickly moved work schedules and funds for one more road trip this summer — to visit Gramps before he departs.
Contact Holly Christensen at whoopsiepiggle@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on Akron Beacon Journal: Graduations, weddings and goodbyes: Navigating the journey of life | Holly Christensen
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