home town

Home means Nevada! My roots begin in rural Nevada and burrow all the way to my current home in Henderson NV. Alamo, NV, which is nestled in the Pahranagat Valley and includes places like: Richardsville, and Ash Springs, and Hiko, and the Whipple Ranch, and Buckhorn Ranch and many more Ranches, is where I called home for the first 18 years of my life. My mom's grandfather, William Thomas Stewart, is credited with the "founding" of Alamo in 1901. It is a community with no stop lights, no movie theatres, no bowling alleys, no "shopping" to speak of, and no "fast food chains". I have often been asked, "then what did you do for fun?" Don't worry I still had "fun" growing up. In fact it is the fun I had growing up that my kids and other urban children are missing that sometimes causes me inner turmoil about raising my kids in the city, "Sin City" no less, but that's an entirely different post. Really, my "home town" is about a twenty mile stretch along Highway 93 that has a population totaling maybe 1500 people (and I think that is a generous estimation). Growing up in a small town has many advantages and well. . . disadvantages too. Unfortunately that which makes it so great is sometimes what makes it so difficult.

For example, everyone knows everyone and that builds a sense of community and invested interest and helpfulness; everyone knows everyone and that leads to rumors and toxic gossip and misplaced judgements. A blessing and a curse. I guess it is the bitter that is attached to everything sweet.

When I was twelve, my siblings, cousin, best friend and I were camping at the "P"--the mountain on the east side of town, with our white lime stone painted "P" boasting our school spirit. We were on our way home that August morning when my father drove up, in his little Toyota dump truck and said, "get in". I was still trying to process why he wasn't at work. It was a Monday morning and my dad never, never, ever missed work! I just stared at him dumbfounded and asked, "Why aren't you at work?" His reply was the last thing I had ever thought he would say. "Our house caught on fire last night. Now get in the back." We threw our stuff in the back and then climbed in. I sat there stunned. Was he joking? It wasn't very funny if he was joking. It was only moments later as we were nearing the street that I lived on that I knew he wasn't joking. I could smell it long before I could see it. I will never forget the smell. Not quite the earthy smell of a campfire nor the harsh smell of trash burning (people did that when I was little; burned their trash in their yard.) It was somewhere in between. It was an pungent smell, and yet almost sweet as it lingered. As the realization of "my house caught on fire" began to set in, my mind began to race. What about my mom and my little sister and baby brother? Where are they? Are they O.K. What about my stuff? Was it ruined? my photo albums, my journals, my clothes, my sticker collection, my jewelry box? My mind couldn't process fully what this meant.

The hours and days following that moment though made things a lot clearer. It meant we had no place to live. It meant I literally had only the clothes on my back. Even that which was not burned to ashes had water and smoke damage. We were instructed to "leave everything". Most of it was thrown away, but we were able to salvage some picture, family history, and other sentimental items, but almost everything integral to the first 12 years of my life was gone. GONE.

Teenage years are hard even in the best of circumstances. These weren't the best of circumstances to begin my Jr. High school experiences. I was angry. School was a week away from starting. I now had no clothes. No home. And I was moving from the elementary school to the high school (Only two school building in that day. K-6 in one and 7-12 in the other). As one who craves stability my world felt rocked beyond repair. To make matters worse, a day or two after the fire I was informed that the town was holding a "benefit dinner" for the Masons! I was mortified. I behaved horribly; I threw a screaming, yelling, crying tantrum and said, "I will die before I go to that dinner and be a 'charity case'!" Yes, I was a typical, ungrateful, self-centered, teenage brat!

I was drug to the dinner by my parents who loved me enough to fight that battle . Truthfully, even my twelve year old self would have to admit that it wasn't "that bad". People were kind and genuinely offered help which we needed. After a few minutes, I even forgot that I was a "charity case" and enjoyed myself. My thirty-five year old self would say that it was one of the most formative moments of my early years. The benefits that were received that night extended way beyond the needed money that was donated. The money helped a lot, especially until the insurance money arrived. But the real value was feeling the power of love and unity. Knowing that we weren't left alone to solve our own problems. And being taught how to look beyond myself to help other people. I think most people would rather do the helping rather than be the one who needs help, but it is important to learn to do both graciously. I have found myself on both sides of this situation throughout my life ,and hopefully, each time I am learning to handle it better.

That was a really long story to bring me to my point. Doing this auction the past two weeks has brought me that small town feeling that I miss-- the good part that is! The irony is that this auction has included people across the entire United States so that doesn't even qualify as a small town; nonetheless, the result is the same. We have all joined together with a united effort to help someone in need. It has been fun to reconnect with people I haven't heard from in years. It has been a great opportunity to hear from people that I haven't met personally, but I have heard about. It has also been great to be in contact with complete strangers who just see a need and join in to help the cause. Amid so many dark moments in this life it is comforting to be a part of something so bright! In the words of William Shakespeare, "How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world." ~ Merchant of Venice.