I took the boys camping Thursday night up Left Hand Fork Canyon. We tried to camp there back in the Spring, but the weather was just a bit too nasty, so we just played in nature for a little while before we returned home. Gina had a meeting for work in Logan yesterday, so the boys and I tooled around in the mountains for most of the day before we came into town and met up with her for dinner. It was the first time I’d been in Cache Valley since our failed attempt at camping earlier. It was good to be back, but something strange happened just as we entered Brigham City yesterday afternoon. Rather, I felt something I didn’t expect: I was returning Home.
Cache Valley was my home for 13 years. I moved down from Idaho Falls in July of 2008, and then I, Gina and the boys moved to Brigham City in June of last year (2021; not sure if this parenthetical is necessary, but whatever). When we moved we were in the middle of settling details for buying our house. We signed our contract July 2, closed August 2, then took possession of the house August 24, and finally moved in October 30 after day after day of working on the necessary updates beforehand. Despite living there for 13 years (from age 28 to 41); despite meeting and dating my wife there (and Idaho Falls, where she lived at the time, and Brigham City, where she’s from); despite both of our boys being born there, Logan never felt like Home to me. I don’t think I really and truly felt a sense of belonging there. Not to say that I didn’t like Logan—I like it. I even loved it there. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that when I moved to Logan I was only supposed to be there for three years (for grad school) and I never really had a mindset of permanence. But I didn’t really realize that I felt that way—not in a conscientious way—until yesterday as I was traveling down 200 South, nearing the turn to our street.
Brigham City has been a lovely place to call home—we’re close to grandparents (Gina’s parents), cousins; it’s a quiet, quaint town; we are part of a wonderful ward. Our house is amazing. Gina and I have said that the only other time we’re moving out of our house is on a stretcher—in many, many years down the road. We’re here to stay.
We’ve taken a lot of trips this summer—much more than I thought we’d take with gas prices being what they are. We’ve been to Island Park, Idaho Falls a few times, Pocatello a few times, Twin Falls (which was cut short due to an ear infection in one of the boys). At the end of each trip as we neared Brigham City, and then turning on to our street, I knew we were returning home, but I think it took visiting a place I’d lived in for over a quarter of my life to really realize that Brigham City is my Home. Our Home.
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
germansingergirl
janainaart
kaledo-art