Time To Put Down Roots In Spokane

For what it’s worth, Spokane will go down in my personal history as the first place I’ve planted deep roots.

My fiance and I are about to close a deal on a home with a yard, a garden and a workshop. I’ll have gutters to clean, a roof to sweep and a lawn to edge.

It’s my first mortgage.

In the past, my biggest worries were filling in the nail holes and cleaning the oven so I could get my rental deposit back.

I will soon confront lawn peer pressure, but I’ll worry about that once I get moved in.

Now I’m trying to let home ownership sink in.

After moving an average of every 18 months since college, I’m home, baby.

Even my low-key dad about spit out his coffee when I gave him the news.

My sister’s giving up a family picnic to come help us unpack. My mom’s got a spot reserved in the new garden. And somehow, I feel more like a grown-up now.

I had spent the past year driving around neighborhoods, north and south, the Valley, even Post Falls. My fiance and I were even considering buying a plot of land and having a home built in a new development.

We settled on a place that felt established.

It’s a neighborhood where lush foliage spills over rock walls, where there’s a sense of community along with privacy. People jog through and walk their dogs to and from a near-by park.

The first thing people always ask is, “Where did you buy a house?”

I was a guest in a North Side home, lounging on a big deck with several people milling around. We were all waiting for the ribs on the gas grill.

“We’re trying to buy a place on the lower South Hill,” I said.

“Oh, the South Hill,” said a guy I just met.

He voice got louder as he went on about how we’ll be too good to come to anymore North Side gatherings. Maybe the humble menu of ribs won’t be suitable to our palates.

I found out later that he lives on the South Hill, too.

From day one here in Spokane, people have told me there is class warfare between the north and south sides.

As our house deal headed for closing, I kept mental notes of people’s responses to my new address.

“I’m a man of the people; I live north,” said one person.

“Oh, that’s a beautiful area,” said another.

“That’s a strange place. Sometimes people aren’t very friendly,” said someone else.

There’s an awful lot of baggage tied up with your address in Spokane.

My fiance says you almost need to justify wherever you live in Spokane.

“We live on the South Hill because we love old homes.”

“You can buy more house for your money in the Valley.”

“We’re definitely North Siders.”

I have a vague notion of what these people are talking about. It’s clear that people will determine a lot about me by my address.

It’s not that concerning. I have enough of my own baggage to worry about.

I still carry some persistent doubts about the South Hill because of my grandpa, my mom’s dad.

As a girl, my mom lived on the South Hill and attended Marycliff. She was one of three American Indian girls in her class who came from out of town and stayed in guest homes.

The only time my mom ever saw her dad look humble was when he came to Spokane to visit her on the South Hill where she lived.

She remembers how her dad stood at the door of a large home, held his hat with both hands in front of his chest and nodded a lot while smiling.

At first I resented the South Side for having that kind of effect on my grandpa. He died years ago.

I keep a picture of him standing next to my grandma in the Mission Mountains of Montana.

He built a two-bedroom home in St. Ignatius for his wife and 12 children. He built storage for glass Mason jars of apricots and cherries.

While touring my new home, I opened a closet door beneath the stairs and saw peaches in glass jars next to a canning pot. And that was it.

This house will be home.