My family has this place. Alta, Wyoming. It was settled in part by my ancestors. My great grandmother Alice Cloe Larsen was sent to Alta from Moab to get her away from a young suitor who "wasn't good enough for her." The suitor's name- Oscar McKonkie. Here in Alta, Cloe met the dashing T. Ross Wilson. They had a farm where they built a life. They had 7 children. 6 boys and one beautiful little girl named Suzanne- my grandma. And when my Grandma was just 3 years old, her mother passed away in her home from complications relating to pregnancy (a blood clot compounded with severe hyperemesis.)
I've loved Alta from the time I was a little child driving in a car full of presents up the snowpacked lanes into my grandma's driveway on Christmas Eve where we were greeted with excitement by my uncles and at least 6 feet of snow. We'd wake up Christmas morning to a sparkling tree and watch the sun come up revealing the majesty of the tetons. At Grandma's house I played cowboys and indians with my Uncle Morgan, harassed my poor Uncle David, said- and was reprimanded for- my first swear word, was fed twinkies and canned cherries on blue and white dishes, knew that santa was real, and saw my grandma truly happy. In 1987 my Uncle Morgan died in a car accident and the grief was too overwhelming for my grandma. She had to leave the place of her birth and start again (one of too many times in her life).
And yet, we kept going back. At least once a year all of the Wilsons young and old gather together over Memorial Day weekend. We sing in church, visit the farm (still family run), go to the Cemetery meeting for members of the Pratt Ward Cemetary Association where we vote on important items such as "is it okay for Uncle Grant to use the cemetery owned lawn mower for personal use since he voulenteers his time to mow the cemetary lawn?" The actual Memorial Day Monday is held in the old Pratt Ward Cemetery. There is a patriotic presentation complete with a 21 gun salute and taps, then we put flowers on all of the Wilson Family graves. This has become especially meaningful to me now that my sweet grandma is buried there.
Even after my grandma left Alta, my Aunt Janice (Grandma's brother Mark's wife) has opened up her home- the old family farm and her heart to us. This year Aunt Janice had every one of her family present and where we were invited to stay at the farm, we decided to stay at some cabins near by although we did eat our meals at the farm where Aunt Janice served over 100 people! One night on this trip Rob, Erin, Mom and I sat in our hotel hot tub and talked. I posed to them this question, "What draws us to this place? There is no real reason to come and yet we are drawn here." In my mind, it is our heritage. The fact that in spite of all of the chaos of our lives there is a place where we belong. So although I've never lived there, I consider Alta, Wyoming a home of sorts. I'm more connected to it than any other place, save my current home with my little family. It also doesn't hurt that I see my Grandma everywhere in Alta. I can see her picking raspberries when I look at her old house. I hear her laughter in the wind as I run with my little girl. And the moment my heart was aching for her as we were walking into the cemetary service, I'll be darned if I didn't see a humming bird floating there in the wind as if she sent it just to say she was there and that she loved me too!
As Doug and I grow roots with our family, I'm sure the need for roots elsewhere may diminish some. But I'm thankful to Cloe and T. Ross for making a home for me.
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