Vocal Point : Visit to former home reveals ‘spirit of place’
A tree. A building. The color of the sky.
When you live someplace long enough, things such as these can become powerful, almost magical symbols, evoking emotions unfathomable to anyone who has not lived their history.
This “spirit of place” is the result of staying planted in one spot long enough that it becomes part of you and you become part of it; a symbiosis of people, places and things wrapped up in the day-to-day experiences of life itself.
Anyone who has grown up in one part of the country and moved to another understands – better, they actually can feel – what I am talking about.
My wife, Deborah, and I moved to the Spokane Valley from Southern California in 1985. Our first trip back, after a five-year absence, was both nostalgic and uncomfortable. Things just didn’t feel right. Block after block along Imperial Highway, a major thoroughfare comparable to Sprague, had been torn down and rebuilt. The huge Fashion Square Mall was being ripped out. The Chevrolet dealership, which I regularly visited as a teen to lust after the newest cars, had been replaced by – of all things – a strip mall. The homes in my parent’s neighborhood were starting to look shabby.
The family shared stories and pictures of get-togethers we had missed. They briefed us on the latest local news and gossip. And, while our backs had been turned, my nephew had grown taller, my parents had grown shorter, and everyone looked older. We felt left out.
It is true what they say about change being a constant. On my most recent journey back, I found my parent’s neighborhood had been repainted, restuccoed, reroofed, rewindowed, replanted and otherwise redone so that, after 19 years, almost nothing familiar remained.
As I walked up the old, crumbling asphalt driveway, I felt like a character from the 1960s Twilight Zone TV show. I knew I was at the right address, but it just couldn’t be my old home. Instead of gold-colored stucco and steel gray trim the house was cream and sienna brown. The boat and RV, which had sat rusting forever in the driveway, had vanished. The front door, painted Mandarin red in the Chinese tradition for 44 years, was now turquoise. And there was a screen door – we never had a screen door!
There were well over 3,000 homes built in that neighborhood during the early 1960s and, as a child, I spent many hours poking around the construction sites. Then I’d go home and design my own houses while dreaming of becoming an architect. Walking around four decades later, it was easy to identify how much had changed. Only one house had been maintained true to its original design.
My nephew is grown up and has a 2-year old son who is absolutely wonderful while asleep. Mom has trouble navigating stairs but is healthy and mentally sharp. My older brother still travels constantly, but now he gets a company car.
Despite all the jarring changes, there were no uncomfortable feelings this trip. It was good catching up with the family, but I didn’t feel left out.
The most powerful impression from this reunion was that we have not just grown older, we have all moved on. Sure, nothing looks the same, but Mom has made great progress since my grandfather’s and my father’s deaths six years ago. She gets out and travels, has good friends and is engaged with life. My older brother is doing great things for his work, his church and the family. My nephew is a dad going to school to improve his life.
I didn’t feel left out because, through the passage of time, my life has become more and more intertwined with the people and places of our Pacific Northwest. Certainly the dilapidated condition of U-City is an embarrassment and the provincialism of our politics both frustrates and amuses me. But we’ll all continue to grow and change.
The Spokane Valley may not be heaven, but I’d wager we’re at least a step or two nearer than Southern California.