Chapter 6 Lost

Chapter 6 Lost

By mid-August, there was a chill in the air—a hint that winter was on its way in the high Unitas.  By the end of August, came the first snow flurry.   Our stay at Wolf Creek had come to an end. It was hard to believe we had only been there two months. We did more in those two months than we usually do in several years. We hiked to the Granddaddy Lakes, caught 11 fish, saw a bear, went 4-wheeling, read books together, hiked, canoed on the lake almost daily, and I even got caught up on all my scrapbooking. Now it was time to leave. My little escape from reality had come to an end.

Even though I enjoyed my time at Wolf Creek more than I imagined, I was feeling pretty camped out. The short showers that once were just a minor inconvenience were starting to wear on me. I longed for a nice long hot shower without the fear of it turning cold in five minutes. I used to enjoy the trips to the Laundromat. I could get five loads of laundry done at once while I read a book. But lately, I was annoyed at having to haul the laundry in and out of the car and then sometimes having to wait for an available machine. I didn’t regret anything so far, but I just wished I could go home, but there was no home anymore. Our house was no longer ours. There was no going back now; only going forward. But forward to where?

Chad and I both agreed that we didn’t want to go back to Heber. We wanted a fresh start—a totally blank slate. Chad also needed a job. He had found jobs here and there framing, but it wasn’t enough.  When the campground management offered us a position at a campground near Strawberry Reservoir, we decided to take it. The position would last until late September and would give us a little more time to figure things out. The campground was bigger and busier than Wolf Creek and would require a lot more work.  It wasn’t ideal, but it was all we had.

As we left Wolf Creek, I didn’t feel free like I had felt when we left our home in Heber. I felt lost and insecure. The road to the campground wound around the back side of the reservoir.  I buried my apprehension and let my mind wander as I marveled at leaves that had just started to change colors. The scenery as it glistened off the reservoir was almost surreal.  Even though it was absolutely breathtaking, it wasn’t enough to chase away the melancholy feeling I had.

Nearing the campground, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw a small quaint store near the boat ramp. It wasn’t much of a store, but it was a sign of civilization. The store clerk told us stories of big fish being caught right of the dock.  Danielle’s excitement grew as she looked at the pictures posted on the bulletin board near the door. Some of the fish in the pictures were nearly as big as her. As my eyes scanned the board, I saw a sheet of paper posted up with a tack that read, “Solider Creek Marina will be closed for the season on September 2nd.”  That was tomorrow.

We tried fishing several times with no luck. The kids’ attention turned to crawdads. The really big ones were about five inches long with large crablike claws, long spindly antennas, and black beady eyes.  Their shell was a dark reddish brown color similar to that of a lobster. Some people referred to them as fresh water shrimp. I heard stories of campers who boiled them and ate them. I thought about it briefly, but I just couldn’t. They were too ugly.  Jared and Dani caught tons of them. They tied a hot dog to a string and lowered it into the water. The crawdad would grab onto the meat with their claws hold on to it until they were pulled on to the dock.

The kids spent their weekdays at school in Heber. Jared started preschool and Danielle was in fourth grade at a private school. Chad would take them to school on his way to work and I would pick them up. It was about a 45 minute drive and took nearly two hours out of my day. The rest of my time was spent taking care of the campground and the daily chores of life. It was a little chilly during the days so the kids didn’t like to go out as much. Danielle loved driving the golf cart around the campground while I collected fees and cleaned the campsites, and to my relief, this campground was equipped with flushing toilets. With each passing day, I became more and more anxious. 

Chad and I spent many nights discussing options of where to go. We talked about all the places we had visited over the years—Colorado, Washington, Oregon, Northern California, Idaho. We almost moved to Ouray, Colorado instead of Heber.  It was a small quaint town known for their natural hot springs with a population of about 400. It was on the other side of the mountain from Telluride, a small upscale ski resort. Then there was Washington. We spent our honeymoon in the Cascade Mountains. It was lush and green. Ferns, mosses, and vines grew wild. It was amazing. Then there was Northern California. We both really enjoyed the five months we spent in Eureka, a small coastal logging town near the border of Oregon.

When it came down to it, Chad made the decision—Bend, Oregon.  I really didn’t care where we went.  I just wanted to settle somewhere—anywhere.  Chad was always motivated by rock climbing. He didn’t go very often because of work, kids, and just life, but it was always on his mind—used to drive me crazy. He was pretty obsessed with it. His choice of friends, vacations, outings, and of course, places to live all had to do with rock climbing, so when Chad decided on Bend, Oregon, I wasn’t surprised to find out it was near Smith Rock, a famous rock climbing area.

At the end of September, we packed up our fifth-wheel like a bunch of hillbillies (minus grandma in the rocking chair) and started the trip. The feeling of freedom was long gone.  We stopped at my sister’s house to say goodbye. It was harder than I expected. Our family did not express emotions well—especially tender ones. We had become very good over the years at avoiding any show of affection. The words “I love you” were never spoken in our home growing up. I was pretty sure my parents loved me, but sometimes I wondered. I always felt jealous of families where hugs and affection were given frequently and openly. I longed to tell Laura that I loved her and that I would miss her desperately, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t know how to make it not weird, so I did what I always did. I pushed it down, hugged my sister, and made a hasty exit before her, or anyone else, could see the tears that started flowing from my eyes. I felt so alone and so destitute. No money, no place to live, and now no family nearby to help. 

After more than six hundred miles and 11 hours of driving, we arrived. Located in central Oregon, Bend is in the high desert. The population at the time was about 55,000. The weather was much like that of Northern Utah where I had grown up. The summers were hot and the winters were cold and snowy. Huge pine trees spattered the landscape. Most of the architecture was that of mountain bungalow style homes and rustic looking but well maintained buildings.  It reminded me of an old mining town.  

It wasn’t long before we found a well-kept RV park—one of the nicest I had seen. There were mature trees, manicured lawns, and a new club house with showers and a Laundromat. Each RV space had its own storage shed. It was nice, but it wasn’t home. I was ready for this journey to end. The trailer seemed to be getting smaller and smaller with each passing day. The walls seemed to close in on me and I felt cramped and was easily agitated. The kids were bored and began to fight more often. Chad became stressed and worried about work, or more accurately, the lack of it. He became withdrawn and distant. I longed for his support and compassion, but it was not there.  I felt lonely, scared, discouraged, and just plain worn out. 

  It was hard getting up each day. The alarm would ring and I would push the snooze several times until I finally turned it off. When I was finally able to drag myself out of bed, it was a chore just to put my clothes on. I had lost all hope and ambition.  I didn’t know how I was going to face the day. Reality was creeping in. I could no longer ignore the fact that we were almost penniless and homeless with no hope in sight. I could no longer pretend this was an adventure.  I went about my daily routine like a blob--void of any emotions.  I avoided thinking about my predicament or anything at all. 

I didn’t know where to go or what to do. Chad didn’t have any answers, and he still hadn’t found work. My prayers seemed to go only as far the ceiling. I felt so alone. I couldn’t go on like this much longer. The words that Christ cried out from the cross to his father in his darkest hour came to my mind. I softly repeated the words, “Father, father, why hast thou forsaken me?” I longed for direction and for the comfort of the spirit, but I felt nothing. I felt abandoned. Everywhere I looked for validation there was none. I felt lost and worthless. 

A few days later my phone rang. It seemed strange as it broke the silence of my destructive thoughts.  No one had called me for weeks. As I looked at the phone, I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. I really needed someone, but I wasn’t sure I wanted someone. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but that was where I was.  I hesitated not sure I was capable of talking to anyone. It was LeAnn, a friend from Heber. We weren’t close friends, but I knew her well.  She was my neighbor and we had attended church together. The warmth in her voice softened me. She said she had been thinking of me and was worried about me. The pain and hurt I had been ignoring and stuffing down began to well up inside of me which was what I longed for but was afraid of at the same time.  Her tenderness tore down the walls I was building to numb myself.  It was a short phone call, but I got the message. God did love me. He hadn’t left me alone. He knew me, and He knew exactly what I was going through. At that moment, I felt the Savior’s love for me. After I hung up the phone, I returned to my bed. Weak and exhausted, I curled up in a ball like a little child and cried. Without words, I released all control to Him and acknowledged that I could not do this on my own.  I felt the warmth and comfort of the Savior as if I were in His arms. I once again felt His spirit by my side.

Over the next few days, I realized I was not where I needed to be—for me or for my family. I was trying to make something work that just wasn’t working.  I was also looking for Chad to solve this problem. I decided I needed to figure it out for myself.  I fasted and prayed about where we should go.  I was alone driving in the car contemplating the question when a thought came to my mind, “Where do you want to go?’  The countryside was beautiful and I marveled at how green it was as in Oregon.  I watched the sun on the horizon and the countryside as it passed by my window.  I ran the question though my mind again and again, “Where do I want to go?” “Of all the places in the world, where would I want to go?” The world is so vast and there are so many places I haven’t seen and can’t even imagine. As I was pondering the question, the answer came, “St. George.” The moment it came to my mind, my heart burned and I felt a calm and peaceful reassurance. “Yes, St. George, Utah.” It just felt right.

          I was surprised it wasn’t hard to convince Chad about St. George. Climbing may have had something to do with it; there is some great climbing in St George as well. And, I suspect Chad had also come to realize that Bend, Oregon just wasn’t working for us. He hadn’t been able to find work, and we were living in a fifth-wheel trailer which bothered me far more than it did him—he would be content living in his truck.  I suggested we sell the fifth-wheel and find someplace not on wheels as soon as possible. I was done with camping. It had been four long months. Chad wasn’t convinced. He said we needed to wait until we found someplace to live first, but I really could not take it anymore, not even another week. Probably not many people looking for a trailer in November, but I didn’t care—I was done. Done, Done, Done and over done! 

I called my sister, Laura, and asked if we could stay with her for a week or two until we could figure something out. “Of course,” she replied.  I cleaned out the fifth-wheel and put it in the local classified ads. The first and only call came within a few days—they bought it!