Adulting on Our Own

Grandma Grace, the most experienced, lives in Roseau now, which might as well be a state away at times. My folks, Bill and Linda, the hardest working and most knowledgeable, are in Mission, Texas for the winter. And tomorrow, our cabin mover heads home.

Don Moyer - if you live around here, you either know him or know of him - has been a fixture at Prothero's for the last two weeks and here at The Angle for over a month, getting a job done for us that we had no idea how to do on our own. "Drag it on skids," was as far as we'd planned. "Oh boy..." Don said, wide-eyed, in response to that.

If I were still in the column writing business, Don would have made a really good interview. We visited several times over the course of this past summer and again these last few weeks. He has ties to my dad and my dad's dad, and I loved hearing about it. Those days stand like a faded sepia photo in my memory, but Don could bring it all back to vivid life so readily. Our visits were never on the surface; they went quickly to heart-depth, just like I like it. Stories old and new left his lips in the flow of regular work conversation as though they were meant exactly for our ears, and indeed they were. There was philosophy and kindness woven into every sentence.

I enjoyed him immensely, and I often felt envious of Tony as he labored alongside him while I kept the kids alive at home. The roles feel so unfair sometimes, ...but I digress.

Today, as I was dropping off a hefty check and saying a final goodbye, we visited as though there were no time for superficial pleasantries. He shared that his own father had died when he was just a boy. And he again mentioned my Grandpa Clair - my dad's dad - and how my grandpa would spend time with him, would talk to him, would teach him in that slow and quiet way that was my grandpa's.

It was my mom's dad, Grandpa Dale, who built the cabin Don moved for us. And it was my dad's dad who gave Don some of the foundational knowledge to do the job he does today.

My throat closed a little as I repeated that realization out loud. "Both of my grandfathers are present here," I said quietly to Don, to no one, to the trees. And just when I had been feeling so alone in these big adulting decisions, this big check writing, and the even bigger responsibility of finishing the cabin on our own now, I realized the guidance of my forebearers is all around me, coming from both sides of my family, present even on the wind if I can slow down and listen.

Later, alone, I wept in gratitude, bowing my head to the magnificence of the gift. I felt surrounded. I felt held. And it felt so good, so solid. Like a hug from a broad-shouldered grandpa, something I haven't experienced in a long, long time.

We're not adulting alone at all. And I'm so grateful.

Thank you for reading. I'm very glad you're here.

Love, - Kellie

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Enjoy this short video of the final cabin move steps. A lot led up to this, or course, but it captures the bulk of the big action.