Happy Fathers day & Birthday Dad! Just said goodbye to you yesterday so that long distant thing doesn't seem so striking.
My Father ... how do I describe my father? Today I am at a loss for words ... sick, uninspired, I don't know - but in the year 2000 looking for peace in my life and not finding it anywhere, a friend at work told me to find a place ... a place I could envision to do relaxation exercises. And one day - I found it! This is the letter I wrote him (and, sorry, Dad - I know you have seen this before ... just recycling) and is still a pretty good 'picture' of my father:1 August 2000
"I found my place! It wasn't where I thought it would be.
I grew up in Logan, Utah, in Cache Valley, a valley surrounded by mountain ranges. There was a canyon to the East - Logan Canyon, where we spent many a vacation in many, many places. The canyon ends winding down to Bear Lake, where my parents had a cabin on the side of a mountain overlooking the lake. I love Bear Lake, but right before you start winding down to the valley, right before you can see the lake, and the blue and all it’s splendor, there is a small campground called Sunrise campground. It is full of quaking aspens. I always remember them as they are in autumn: the white bark, and yellow coin shaped leaves. When the sun is shining and there is a breeze, they look like a million gold coins tinkling in the wind. It is indescribably beautiful.
One time when we were camping there, I was nine or ten, my father woke me before the sun came up, and whispering, said to follow him quietly. We found ourselves on the top of a summit, surrounded by Quakies, on a bench. We sat down and dad said to not move as the sun started rising in the East. It was soft and quiet and peaceful, like being enveloped by a warm down quilt on a cold, snowy night. We sat as still as statues, as a doe and two fawns wandered down the trail, looking at us, and moving on, but not before the most inquisitive of the two little ones came up to look at me. I could see myself reflected in those big brown eyes as we blinked at each other, then the beautiful little creature moved on to find its’ mother.
My father and I shared something special that morning. Being the third of six children, there were not many 'one-on-one' times. He knew this was something we could share together and that I would see in it what he did. We smiled at each other, storing the shared moment in our hearts, and headed back to camp before anyone woke to start the fire. I haven't thought of that morning for a very long time.
Don't tell my mother, but I have secretly always been proud of the fact that I am so like my father; six of us and he has only me! His green eyes, his left-handedness, and some quirky habits, which may seem odd to some, but seem normal to me! When I was going to college at Utah State University where my father worked, I was stopped many times and was told, more than asked: "You're Val Peterson's daughter, aren't you?" To which I could always proudly smile and say yes. They always smiled back saying "You are a spitting image. He is a good man." To which I could also proudly smile and say yes.
And now I have a son, who has my father’s eyes. Eyes that have seen too much in ten years, and sometime can look so sad and old it makes my heart ache. If I can be just half the parent my father was to me – he and my mother are the best examples I know, then maybe he will be OK. My mother has told me that when they are alone, my father tells her that as he watches Ryan, he sees himself at the same age dong the same things. I love to watch Ryan when he does not know I am looking, and in a small way, it is as if my father is right there in the room, and for a moment, that makes things better.
Sunrise campground. One morning, out of thousands, and that's the one, the one I will try to find. Not that hard since I will be in Bear Lake by Sunday morning. Gary might find it odd when I tell him I have something to do and take our rental van, up the switchbacks, into the campground and find that bench, sit, soak in the sun and try to find my way back to some sort of peace. "
"I found my place! It wasn't where I thought it would be.
I grew up in Logan, Utah, in Cache Valley, a valley surrounded by mountain ranges. There was a canyon to the East - Logan Canyon, where we spent many a vacation in many, many places. The canyon ends winding down to Bear Lake, where my parents had a cabin on the side of a mountain overlooking the lake. I love Bear Lake, but right before you start winding down to the valley, right before you can see the lake, and the blue and all it’s splendor, there is a small campground called Sunrise campground. It is full of quaking aspens. I always remember them as they are in autumn: the white bark, and yellow coin shaped leaves. When the sun is shining and there is a breeze, they look like a million gold coins tinkling in the wind. It is indescribably beautiful.
One time when we were camping there, I was nine or ten, my father woke me before the sun came up, and whispering, said to follow him quietly. We found ourselves on the top of a summit, surrounded by Quakies, on a bench. We sat down and dad said to not move as the sun started rising in the East. It was soft and quiet and peaceful, like being enveloped by a warm down quilt on a cold, snowy night. We sat as still as statues, as a doe and two fawns wandered down the trail, looking at us, and moving on, but not before the most inquisitive of the two little ones came up to look at me. I could see myself reflected in those big brown eyes as we blinked at each other, then the beautiful little creature moved on to find its’ mother.
My father and I shared something special that morning. Being the third of six children, there were not many 'one-on-one' times. He knew this was something we could share together and that I would see in it what he did. We smiled at each other, storing the shared moment in our hearts, and headed back to camp before anyone woke to start the fire. I haven't thought of that morning for a very long time.
Don't tell my mother, but I have secretly always been proud of the fact that I am so like my father; six of us and he has only me! His green eyes, his left-handedness, and some quirky habits, which may seem odd to some, but seem normal to me! When I was going to college at Utah State University where my father worked, I was stopped many times and was told, more than asked: "You're Val Peterson's daughter, aren't you?" To which I could always proudly smile and say yes. They always smiled back saying "You are a spitting image. He is a good man." To which I could also proudly smile and say yes.
And now I have a son, who has my father’s eyes. Eyes that have seen too much in ten years, and sometime can look so sad and old it makes my heart ache. If I can be just half the parent my father was to me – he and my mother are the best examples I know, then maybe he will be OK. My mother has told me that when they are alone, my father tells her that as he watches Ryan, he sees himself at the same age dong the same things. I love to watch Ryan when he does not know I am looking, and in a small way, it is as if my father is right there in the room, and for a moment, that makes things better.
Sunrise campground. One morning, out of thousands, and that's the one, the one I will try to find. Not that hard since I will be in Bear Lake by Sunday morning. Gary might find it odd when I tell him I have something to do and take our rental van, up the switchbacks, into the campground and find that bench, sit, soak in the sun and try to find my way back to some sort of peace. "
Love you, Dad ...
3 comments:
Lori, today is a day to think of Fathers and how they shaped us and protect us. Such a nice moment together, thanks for sharing that. AJ
You are so eloquent! Thanks for sharing!
Lori: I haven't been looking at much on the computer since we returned home, but this father's day message was very touching. I am glad you have some good & fond memories of your childhood and I hope your siblings have some too. Thanks for taking time to write the article when you were not feeling well. And I do remember the recycled message and it brought back memories and emotions just like it did when I first read it. Thanks for being who you are.
Love, Dad
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