A New ... Old ... Place to Call Home

In Cache Valley (isn't that a great-sounding name?), just outside of Logan proper, are two little unincorporated areas: College Ward and Young Ward. 

(Mette with her adored cousin Gwen.)

Mike's parents grew up in these little farming communities. In fact, his connection to College Ward goes clear back to his great-great-grandpa Hans Hansen--the immigrant from Denmark (that we named our own little Hans Hansen after)--who settled and purchased land in the area.

Hans's son Abraham (another namesake) added to the College Ward land; and his son Glen (whose name Mike carries!), and who was nothing if not an incredibly hard worker, eventually bought the farm, purchased more land to add to it, and passed large pieces on to each of his six children--one of whom was Mike's mom: Gayle. 

Her particular piece was purchased in 1920 and has now been in the Hansen family for over 100 years!

(Gayle with her younger brother Lee.)

It's been farmed--used, among other things, for running cattle, growing alfalfa, and, at one point, a portion even housed Del Monte's large pea viner. (Which is why, even now, it is often referred to as "the Pea Viner land".)

But in all of this time, the Pea Viner land has never been lived on. (Though there does remain, on some adjacent Hansen property--that has made its way down to Mike's cousin--the very tiny, yellow house that Glen and his wife lived in for some time with several of their children. The children all slept together in the little basement while their parents slept in the living room on the main floor.)

While Mike didn't grow up in either of the two little communities of College and Young Ward, he did grow up visiting them--spending time with grandparents, hunting pheasants, helping build fences, celebrating Thanksgivings, shooting clay pigeons, etc. And the College Ward land has been a place for constant family "farm days" throughout our married life. (If you take a moment to look, you'll notice that my blog is teaming with these pictures.) Mike has always felt some inexplicably strong loyalty towards it all--some, perhaps genetic, pull back towards his family's Cache Valley roots. 

For years, when he'd talk about wanting to live up there someday, I'd sort of vaguely nod but then dismiss it inwardly at once. Our lives weren't up there. Our parents. Our siblings. Our familiar roads, and stores, and doctors, and schools, and so on. They were all here. Mike could dream, but I was confident that by the time the land might ever conceivably come into our possession, we would be so firmly entrenched in this home and our kids' lives right here that we would never actually consider such a move. 

But then one day, about four and a half years ago, on a whim, Mike took a few hours off of work and we drove up to Logan with a few of our smallest kids. I don't know what was different about that day from any of the many other days I'd been up there--perhaps it was the weather, the rays of sun that filtered in v-lines down through the gray clouds, or possibly the rainbow that stretched right into Cache Valley as we arrived, but somehow something quietly shifted in me that day. I didn't know if it would be Young Ward or College Ward, but this area, so connected to Mike's family lines, I gently felt, could be our home. There was no sudden, clear path forward; no idea of how (or even if) any of the land up there might ever come to Mike; no sudden urgency; and no certainty that it would even be; but there was simply a new, calm ... openness. I was, for the first time, willing. 

And now, four and a half years of wondering later, it's looking like it actually will be! We are going to move our family to the College Ward/Pea Viner land! Oh not immediately. There are a thousand hoops to jump through still--water right transfers; and septic tank tests; and a number of heavy-handed, time consuming and expensive demands from the county for anyone who might even consider building in their jurisdiction. (And of course the whole business of finding a builder, and packing up, fixing, and selling a house full of twelve people and their belongings.) 

We don't know exactly how soon it will happen or how everything will finally fall into place, only that paths have begun to open, it feels right, and it's the spot on the horizon to keep our eyes fixed on. Cache Valley is the plan.

Perhaps I should have seen some sign in that line of male ancestors all connected to College Ward--Glen, Abraham, Hans--having had their names cycled back into our own little line; like dots being created on a map directing us back. Perhaps I should have trusted Mike's draw to that place from the start. But I'm no farmer. I don't even particularly like involvement with animals beyond ... looking at them :). It was going to take time for me to see it. And yet, now, somehow, Mike's dream has slowly taken root in me. "Intreat me no to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God."

It feels like magic being on the farm to me now. And I don't know quite what to do with my feelings of extreme gratitude because in some ways, I don't feel I have any right to be there! What did I do? What was my family's sacrifice to preserve this place? Nothing. I married my Mike. That's all. It was he who loved the land and took an interest in its upkeep with his parents; it was his mom who held fiercely and loyally onto the property all these years (when a million times it might have made more sense to sell it); it was Mike's dad who planted the trees, built the fences, had the well dug, and made the pond a magical part of it all; it was Gayle's dad who worked so hard and with such constancy to be able to take care of and pass down all this land, and her grandpa before that, and her great-grandpa even before that (who bravely left all he knew in Denmark and settled determinedly in Cache Valley to begin with). And somehow I've just been ... gathered into it all! Pulled right into being a part of something significant that I have done absolutely nothing to deserve. But! I'm determined to love it. And not take it for granted ever. I'm excited to, with Mike, draw our kids more closely, and with more gratitude, to this Hansen line of theirs by bringing them to a physical place tied to them, a place worked for and protected and passed on to them. I'm eager to try and make it a place of welcoming and blessing to all we associate with there in ways that Mike's mom and ancestors will be pleased with.

(All pictures in this post were from a recent chilly and windy, but very happy farm day we had with Mike's family.) 

A Piglet in the Kitchen and Two Kids in Their Twenties

All winter long the hens have been mucking up our tiny back patio. (And, lest you be tempted to romanticize "muck from chickens on the back patio" with visions of dust and feathers, I must tell you that their muck is not nearly so charming. ...)

Also, there's a baby piglet in a crate full of straw in my kitchen. He's making small, exploratory grunting noises; and his crate doesn't smell particularly good. But it's cold outside. And he's little. So there he is.

(Nice hair my little Starling.)

Of course the fact that it's cold and he's little doesn't actually do much towards explaining why he is here at all. (Or the chickens either for that matter! We live in a small cul-de-sac in the suburbs after all.) 

But! There are many things that don't make a bit of sense in life right now. And that piglet in my kitchen is among the least of those things. (In fact, if you have followed this blog long enough to know anything about my husband, that piglet is probably the most unsurprising thing you've ever seen here.)

Perhaps far more boggling is this:

I now have two children in their twenties! (Daisy turned 20 just last week.)

Sometimes, when I'm driving and the car is quiet, or when my mind is loosening itself towards sleep at night, my thoughts wander backwards towards all my earliest establishing of connection with Mike--replaying those beginning interactions that belong so exclusively to just the two of us; all of the innocent and hopeful moments of enormous excitement that allowed us to take the plunge towards all of this. 

And it is just outside of possible to me that Abe and Daisy are already entering the same stage of life that we were at when we began such an enormous thing!

But, somehow, here they are.

Along with their host of younger siblings, their chickens and kitchen piglets, and all of this hodgepodge of things recorded via photo below:

We went to the cabin in early April where we, along with about a billion boxelder and lady bugs, watched General Conference. (I'm sure Mike's eyes were only closed during a song. ... :))

Abe didn't join us because he had two mission reunions that weekend. 

Here he is headed to the Las Vegas Mission reunion with two other Elders from his mission:

And here he is the following day at his El Salvador reunion:

But there were still reminders of him at the cabin. These shampoo and conditioner bottles for example. ...

And there was also this (wholly unrelated to Abe) that I discovered one morning after not being able to find any of the cups I'd been sure we had plenty of:

On our way home from the cabin the Monday after conference, we stopped again at Willow Park (now Zootah). The chilly weather must have meant that most animals were kept inside and inaccessible because more than ever it was ... primarily a zoo full of ducks. Ha. But at least there were these things:

(Notice Star angrily trying to push Summer out of the way.)

We stopped quickly by the farm afterwards to give some food to the fish in the trough. We got back in the van just as an enormous rainstorm began.

Easter came a few weeks later. The kids wanted to try going to the city egg hunt. We gave them a stern talking to beforehand about how there would be lots of kids, and they might only get a few pieces of candy, and they absolutely could not complain or cry afterwards. 

Turns out our talking to was rather unnecessary. (As were the treats I'd purchased for our own small hunt to be held the next day. Which we did anyway. But goodness!):

Easter Day itself was very happy with all of our kids home, Mette and Summer getting to sing Gethsemane with a small group from the primary during Sacrament Meeting, Goldie and Penny singing in the ward choir, teaching the Easter lesson to my Sunday School class (with both Daisy and Goldie attending), my mom coming for a turkey dinner, and ... these attempts at an after-church snapshot:

In other news, Abe took a jiu-jitsu class at BYU. At the end of the semester they had a competition between all the BYU and Utah Valley classes. To our surprise, Abe called to tell us he got first in his weight class! I'd been praying he could win at least one of his five exhausting matches. But opponents were tapping out left and right! It was fun to watch the videos of his matches afterwards. Especially since, during the tense parts, I already knew the outcome. :) 

(He isn't a foot taller than the second and third place winners. They are standing on a staggered podium.)

And here he is repelling down after a big rock climb recently:

There was much discussion over the merit of this "Gallon Man" memorizing tool that Anders showed us one day. People seemed to take the most issue with the two hands on each arm and two feet on each leg (and only two fingers per hand); but, despite several attempts to produce a better depiction of the relationship between cups, pints, quarts and gallons, this remains the only one I remember (and there was even quite a fascinating ... "Gallon Submarine" thrown into the mix of potential tools by Daisy).

Another Hans drawing. Some of you may quickly recognize that you are looking at Pingu. The "nuk nuk" gives it away.

And here is Hans himself--asking me to take a picture of him with his dragon, and ... doing his very darndest to smile for the camera. (He finds this practice incredibly difficult and, in the two pictures I took before this one, actually appeared to be in horrible pain.)

And Shasta with Little Gray Cat. Mike texted me this photo one morning and told me that, characteristically for both of them, when he opened the door, Shasta bolted into the house and Little Gray Cat bolted away from the house.

While Mike was observing this, I was here. Doing work for one Lucy Holland who I do not know and do not think I am remotely related to, but hope to know someday all the same.

And that's all for now!